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THE SELECT SERIES. 

A WEEKLY PUBLICATION. 

IDevoted to G-ood Reading in American Fiction. 

Subscription Price. $13.00 Per Year. No. 41.— MAY 14, 1890. 

Copyrighted, 1890 , by Street <6 Smith. 

Entered at the Post Office, New York, as Second-Class Matter, 


Beautiful Rie/nzi,- 


OR, 


the sechet vendetta. 


BT 

ANNIE ASHMORE 

AUTHOR OS' 


“Tlx© Bride Bloot,” ©to. 


/ 


NEW YORK: 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 Rose Street. 


. ' C 0 HYR/Q Hr ^ 

AY 16 1890, 




PREFACE. 


If, in these records of a life which was held in the chains 
of rankling secrecy, there is too much of shadow, and too 
little of the smiling day, remember that the clouded life 
was dear to her who writes these pages; and if the pen 
lingers too fondly, too ardently, as oft it may, on her whose 
sorrows were sublime, because sublimely hidden from the 
eyes of love, remember with pity the Southern heart which 
drank deeply of icy woes, and had to learn the hard lesson 
of patience. 

The Author. 




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BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


CHAPTER I. 

WHAT I FIND IH MY HEW EXISTENCE. 

“ At first it seemed a little speck, 

And then it seemed a mist; 

It moved, and moved, and took at last 
A certain shape, I wist.” — Coleridge. 

Since my earliest childhood, I, Ivanilla Rienzi, had lived 
with my grandmother, in Italy, who had claimed me be- 
cause I bore her name. I was the second daughter of her 
younger son, and would inherit her property. My father 
early in life had left his native land, gone to America, and 
literally carved for himself a fortune as master sculptor and 
architect in New York. Here he had married a sweet, gen- 
tle wife, and made his home; here his two daughters had 
been born, and from here, fourteen years ago, I, the 
youngest, then a tiny imp of four years, little red eyes and 
blurred, had been trotted down to a great puffing steamer, 
by the side of a stately grandmamma, who called me 
“ Poverina mia (my poor little one) and bade me kiss 
mamma good-by, for I was going away to a pretty home 
among grapes and oleanders. But I did not care for these 
visionary glories, but began to cry when I saw a pale, sad 
face which was the dearest on earth to me, and fastened 
my little fists like crabs in her beautiful hair, for then I 


8 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


was passionately pressed to her soft bosom, then borne, 
plunging wildly, to a certain cot, where I fell fast asleep, 
and so missed a last sight of the motherling. 

Years of childhood were spent under the sunny skies of 
Italy. I had grown to love my grandparent with all the 
force of my heart. My studies were all under private 
tuition; my world lay in my grandparent and our lovely 
home by the Venetian waters. All fervor, romance, spon- 
taneous' passion, I awaited the hand which should open the 
page of life to me. 

It came — the hand of death. 

My beloved grandmamma slowly, calmly faded, and at 
the same time my mother, whom I could scarce remember, 
was sent from her bleak American home to revive in the 
milder Venice. She it was who stayed me in my great 
affliction, closed the aged one’s eyes, and presided by the 
dying bed with gentle cheer. She it was who first directed 
my sick heart to the home across the sea, and to the un- 
known sister who waited to welcome me. 

And so my good uncle. Signor Andrea Rienzi, who was 
a bachelor and a great man in Venice, took care of me, 
and brought me away from loved Italia and my invalid 
mother to Liverpool, where he put me on board a steamer, 
and under the care of a learned doctor of something, who 
was a philosopher and afraid of women, and so shipped me 
for my new home. 

Behold me then at the wharf in New York, sitting very 

impatiently in the ladies’ saloon of the steamship A 

waiting for some one to come and claim me. 

Other ladies had put on their prettiest dresses, and 
donned their sweetest smiles, and had gone away with 
husbands, fathers, brothers, and guardians, only giving a 
hasty hand-shake to friends who had been made in the two 
weeks at sea, and who would be forgotten in two weeks 
more. 

And as I frowned at Ivanilla in the mirror, a figure stood 
in the door-way of the saloon looking at me; and as the 
door swayed to and fro she held it open with one arched 
hand, while a smile half of doubt and wistfulnes3 dawned 
on her lips. 

And her face was beautiful as a dream, her eyes blue as 
the rippling waters of the Brenta far away in my sunny 
Venezia, her figure tall and regal like a Cleopatra’s, and 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


her charms in their affluence were scarce of this bat-like 
world, where dusky wrong clouds all things. 

“ Is this — yes, it must be Iva!” said the lady, tremulously. 

“Heavens!” cried I, “are you my sister, Isoliua?” 

Her arms were round me by this "time; she was embracing 
me; my head dropped on her bosom — she was mine. All 
this loveliness, this grace was mine; this yielding bosom 
was swelling for me, the tie of blood bound us together — 
my sister /” 

I clung to the exquisite vision and wept with joy as I 
inwardly resolved to deserve the love of so peerless a being; 
and while I was looking up at my sister’s perfect face, the 
father came in, grand as a Roman emperor — dark, kingly, 
soulful — and folded his swarthy, sun-ripened child in his 
arms, as the sweeter vision had done before; and we all 
laughed and wept together, though we were but strangers. 

We gayly recovered Professor Eustacio from a trance of 
philosophy at the open hatchway of the luggage-hold, and 
took him home with us in a rattling carriage which passed 
through scenes strange to eyes accustomed to the creeping 
waters and gondolas of the water-city; and my happy father 
led me by the hand up through a square garden into the 
tall mansion, where the dark polished door was thrown open 
and I was ushered into a hall of lofty magnificence, where a 
low-toned waiter bowed and welcomed Miss Ivanilla 
“ home.” 

And who so radiant and sprightly as this new companion 
of mine, when she had taken me up into her own pretty 
dressing-room, and ensconced me in a deep downy tipping- 
chair, which swayed me gently back and forth with a dream- 
like motion. How she laughed and fondled me when I made 
known at last the thoughts that were in my burning soul. 

“ Isolina,” I murmured, timidly ; “ you are the loveliest 
being I ever saw. You are so much fresher and fairer than 
grandmother Rienzi, though she was fair in my eyes— and 
even Signor Frinli, who was forty-eight, and very handsome, 
and a divine music-master, seems gross beside you. You 
must be the Queen of Beauty in this city, and have many to 
adore you. Will you care for my love too ? I am eighteen, 
you know, and not a child, and I think my heart never was 
so moved as it has been by you. W ill you let me love you, 
my sister ?” 

“ Oh, you darling— yes!” 


10 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


She was unlocking little golden trinkets to show me, but 
she came without them and knelt before me, with her bright 
eyes raised. 

“We must be thorough sisters,” she said, softly. “We 
must love and trust each other as we love and trust no one 
else ; we must let nothing come between our hearts.” 

“ Beautiful one,” I murmured, “ each thought of my 
soul shall be yours — each wish of your heart, my prayer — 
and you to me the same. Is it not so ?” 

And suddenly, with a richly carmine cheek, she clasped 
me close, and her heart thrilled with a nameless emotion, 
whose intensity was all unknown by me. 

On the 6th of October, 1862, I arrived at my new home, 
and commenced life in New York. 

I soon was introduced to my sister’s gay friends, and I 
found she was the belle of her circle ; none so regal, none 
so lovely as she. At ball and concert, reunion or drive, 
she reigned supreme, by right of her. intellectual powers and 
matchless loveliness. 

They called her “ The Beautiful Rienzi,” and my head 
was almost turned with triumph. I worshiped her with 
the fanatical enthusiasm of a devotee, and more deeply as 
the days went on, and often my father laughed and said that 
Isolina was my first love. She may have been. With secret 
exultation I watched the uniform firmness with which she 
checked the devotion of her many admirers, the serene sim- 
plicity with which she passed through adulations, as if un- 
conscious of them, and brought her deepest tenderness to 
me. 

The shimmering dusk was mine to creep close to my sister 
and drink in her soft perfections, like fondest lover, and in 
these sweet thought hours I learned to ponder something. 

Though her eyes were clear and open as an infant’s, to 
my vivid glances, though her lips responded with the 
ready laughter or the gentle sigh to my varying moods, still 
sometimes I felt as if her heart were hidden from me, as if 
her thoughts were not always explained to me, or her moods 
translatable. 

Why those flushes, sweet and strange, sweeping over her 
tender face when silence fell between us ? Why those wist- 
ful sighs, which lighted that bosom soft as cvgnet-down, 
even in the midst of my merriest fantasies of talk ? My 
hands might clasp hers longingly— my eyes appeal, but those 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


11 


smiling lips spoke not but by caresses ; the fire glanced out 
and rouged the tender cheek and brought the 
amber hair into flame-like halos, and she looked like 
some gorgeous fire-spirit, and like the spirit, her soul was 
beyond my reach. 

Yet I was loving her more and more; my heart of pas- 
sion was surging to its depths. . I shall love that bright 
vision with its fair face of supreme beauty and its halo° of 
fire-bronzed hair, forever! These days with my beautiful 
sister were the happiest of my life. 

******* 

On the last day of October we sat together at the win- 
dow of the drawing-room, looking down into the busy 
street. 

Her arm was around me, and I was leaning against her 
chair. 

As gayly I spoke to her, the hand I toyed with closed 
vehemently; she bent forward, and her face was hidden 
from me, but her dainty ear flamed up a sudden scarlet. 

“Ah, ha!” I cried, with sportive triumph, “who thus 
moves my beautiful lady’s heart? Is the conqueror com- 
ing?” 

She turned as I jested. I had thought her animated by 
joy, but this seemed no joy. Her blue eyes were dark and 
stern, her brow inflexible; the flush was not of pleasure, 
but of anger. 

“My sweet one!” I exclaimed, “what has grieved yon? 
Tell me, my sister.” 

She did not answer. She drew me forward and kissed 
my brow. It was a hasty, eager kiss; then she advanced 
to the door as if to fly, and shrank back when her hand 
was on the lock. The door opened; a name was announced 
by the servant, which I failed to catch, and a gentleman 
entered. 

Dazzled by the glory of the clouds I had been watching, 

I could not discern at first the visitor’s face. I saw him 
seize her hand and bend to kiss it. I saw her draw it from 
him, and tower before him a moment in inflexible silence; 
then she turned to me, and the golden sunlight fell on her 
face, which was troubled and distressed. 

“I beg your pardon!” exclaimed the gentleman, in a 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI, 


12 

low, musical voice. “ I was not aware of the presence of 
another lady.” 

“ My sister Ivanilla — Mr. Cecil Beaumont/’ said Isolina. 

On the instant a small., strong hand was clasping mine, a 
pair of fiery, red-brown eyes leaped into mine. I raised my 
eyes to a face which was pale, and fierce, and resolute, despite 
its boyish youthfulness. And as I read what was expressed 
in the restless face, I saw behind its mystic beauty a great 
sorrow in the past, or in the future, which threw a chill 
weight upon my soul. 

“ Is this the foreign sister? They say she is a goddess of 
romance; all heart, nerve, sympathies. What then will 
your sympathy do for me? Behold me, a poor wretch, 
who lives on his wits — ay, an author — and an exile, in a 
land of enmity, condemned to win bread from hands which 
helped to dig his father’s grave. Behold me, a victim to 
the Queen of Beauty, kneeling to a heart of ice. Come now, 
do you pity me?” 

“Mr. Beaumont!’’ broke in my sister’s voice, so coldly 
and with such scorn that I scarce could believe I heard my 
mild-hearted Isolina. 

He turned to her and took a quick step toward her with 
such hunger, wild and yearning, in his eyes that one could 
on the spot discern the reason of his being there. 

“ Shall I go away?” I whispered to my sister. 

She bowed her head, though I hoped she would detain 
me. 

It was he, the visitor, who caught my hand as I passed, 
and pressed it to his lips. 

“ Plead for me!” he whispered, once more transfixing me 
with those fiery, red-brown eyes. 

I shivered and retreated, my heart throbbing with dismay. 
The deepening sunset smote my sister’s face, and filled the 
room with glory. I turned softly to the door, glided out 
and stood in the hall alone. 

Darkness filled that face and room when next I looked 
upon them; the shadow had slid within the portal, and our 
days of girlish happiness were over. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


13 


CHAPTER II. 

I CHASE A PHANTOM, AND FAIL TO FIND IT. 

“ It speaks of storm and tempest; 

Wild horror and despair; 

And its numbers chill the life-blood, 

For the dirge of Death is there!” — Anon. 

I got my hat and paced up and down the gravel walk be- 
fore the house. The evening was chilly, and the beds of 
purple petunias and black pansies were bathed in a white 
hoarfrost, the forerunner of that winter I could not remem- 
ber. 

I drew my scarf yet tighter round my shoulders, though 
I felt no cold; my blood was burning, my cheeks fevered 
with the strange prophetic dread which had come upon me; 
dismay was at my heart. 

An hour passed by — to me a long and anxious one; the 
sun sank like a rocket, in an inflamed haze, behind the 
houses; I looked up fixedly now at the drawing-room win- 
dows where broad gleams of firelight spurted out between 
the curtains; I went to the stone parapet by the garden gate 
and looked longingly down the street for my father; I was 
lonely, thus shut out from my sister by a stranger. I was 
terrified, and crept back to the door. 

At the foot of the steps I met Mr. Cecil Beaumont. 

“Ah! the dark eyed lady!” he said, laying his hand lightly 
on mine. “Do you know that I have never heard your 
voice yet? Come — you are going to befriend me?” 

“ Signor, what can I do for you? I would willingly make 
you less wretched if I had the power.” 

‘•'Why do you think I’m wretched, my little one?” 

“Your eyes — alas! there is a tragedy of woe in them; I 
shudder with grief as I behold them.” 

“It has not come yet,” he answered, with a hollow laugh; 
“but it is coming. She, ‘The Beautififl Rienzi,’ will share 
it — do yon hear? — if this little hand of yours does not try to 
ward it back!” 

His wild, desperate face became pale; I recoiled and 
looked at him in terror. 


14 


BEAUTIFUL JRIEXZI. 


“ What can I do, Mr. Beaumont?” I exclaimed. 

“ You can be my advocate; she loves you, and will lis- 
ten. You can see that no interloper comes between ns — and 
when they do, apprise me.” 

“Be a spy, sir?” 

“ Pshaw! a spy on your own sister, Miss Ivanilla? That 
is impossible — the sisters hide nothing from each other.” 

“ Or from their lovers? Instruct me; I have not learned 
your American usages.” 

“ You refuse, then, to plead for the hapless refugee? You 
laugh at the agony of a heart sensitive as your own, and 
writhing beneath sorrows of which scorned love is the 
crowning one.* You turn from your countryman and refuse 
to help him?” 

“My countryman? I never turn from an Italian, sir.” 

“My mother is an Italian, and I inherit all her fire — 
with but little of the bravery of my Virginian sire. I can 
bear poverty, exile, and toil, my friend, but I cannot bear 
to lose the heart I love so wildly.” 

“Perhaps she loves another, sir.” 

He flung away my hand; his face petrified with jealousy. 
He put his hand to his heart, as if I had stunned him, and 
eyed me desperately. 

“ I have no proof for such a supposition,” I said, my heart 
aching for him; “I do not think my sister’s affection is 
engaged to any one; but how else could one construe her 
coldness to you? Courage, my friend; I will sound the 
waters of my Isolina’s soul, and if an image is painted there, 
you must be content to ride away, asking no questions, as a 
true knight should. If not, Iva shall paint thee there in 
brightest colors; I will be your friend, Mr. Beaumont.” 

He caught my hand and kissed it ardently. A wondrous 
change was in his face; its hard, desperate look was gone, 
and it spoke but of sweet tenderness; those melting eves 
fixed upon me a wistful gratitude, too pure, too sincere for 
treachery. 

“ I will dare to cherish hope, then, with so resistless a 
pleader as you, lady,” he murmured, gently. “ Oh! be my 
friend, or I shall not answer for myself!” 

Quickly he vanished down into the street, and I fled in 
the gathering gloom back to the house. 

The ruby firelight alone filled the drawing-room with a 
somber light, funereal and uncertain; my sister’s figure, 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


15 


tall and slender, was sharply defined by the flickering jets 
as she stood on the hearth with her back to me. There was 
something in her attitude which struck me with an unde- 
fined feeling of disaster. My heart began to flutter— I ran 
in, and stood side by side with her, looking up into her 
face. 

That face, in which I gazed, was pale and perplexed; 
wonder, or terror, or remorse, had contracted the arching 
brows until they met in two depressed curves; her dark 
eyes, questioning, affrighted, fixed themselves upon the 
crumbling embers, as if to read a dreaded destiny; her 
bosom heaved with coming tears, as yet restrained. 

“What grieves you so?” I whispered ardently. “My 
darling, tell your sister everything.” 

She turned and clasped me to her heart with a long, 
shuddering sigh. 

“ What shall I tell you, Ivanilla?” she murmured. 

“ Your whole heart — everything. Why has the coming 
of Cecil Beaumont affrighted you? Who has stolen the 
love away that the poor young Southerner covets?” 

She listened to me in dread silence — she scarcely 
breathed — her pulse seemed suspended. Again that shud- 
dering sigh rent her bosom; but she did not speak. I threw 
back my head and looked at her, and she turned her face 
away. 

“Alas! you hide your heart from Ivanilla!” I moaned. 
“You have thoughts which you never told to me! Tell 
me — tell me, my beautiful — you have a lover?” 

“No!” she cried, in a tone which startled me. Her sad- 
ness had vanished — her face vibrated into an incontrollable 
smile, sudden and strange; she met my gaze, flushed, and 
vailed my eyes with her velvet palm a moment. When she 
released me, she was calm again; that rapture, or agitation, 
had passed away, and I was shut out after all. 

“Who is Cecil Beaumont?” I asked, after a long pause. 

“ He is a gentleman from Virginia — a clever author, they 
say. You appeared much delighted with that book, 
“ Veronico” — that was his.” 

“ He has a grand genius, then. Pity you could not love 
such a soul! And he does adore you!” 

“ I am very, very sorry to be forced to believe that!” said 
my sister, gravely. 

“But why? Ilis character is not ” 


16 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ His character is blameless, Iva, so far as human eye 
can judge. He is a most exemplary person, and a pattern 
of filial affection, they say. He supports his mother by his 
writings. Oh, me!” 

This last exclamation seemed wrung from her in sudden 
distress; she sighed heavily and wearily. 

“How long have you known the Southerner?” I asked. 

“I made his acquaintance last summer — at Saratoga,” 
she answered, in a sinking voice. “He had just been lib- 
erated from prison. He was captured with a company of Con- 
federates some three months before and brought up North. 
He was the son of a wealthy Virginia planter, who put him- 
self at the head of a regiment when the war commenced, 
and fell in one of the first battles. The plantation was 
burned, and the estate destroyed; Mrs. Beaumont forced 
to fly and hide with her slaves in the swamps, with Cecil as 
a protector. A small remnant of Colonel Beaumont’s com- 
pany gathered round his son, and Cecil became a noted 
guerrilla and a scourge to our men, whenever opportunity 
occurred. At length swamp-fever carried off a third of 
them, and the rest were captured in the Chickahominy 
Swamp, the skeletons of themselves. Most of them were 
exchanged; but there was no one to take interest in young 
Beaumont or his mother; they were sent North and at last 
liberated. Young Cecil came to Saratoga, an invalid, and 
there he met me, and without any design on my part — not 
the slightest, Iva — became too much attached to me. It is 
very false of him — he is treating very cruelly an amiable 
young lady who was very kind to him when he was sick 
and in prison. Her father was governor of the prison, and 
mainly by her influence the young soldier was liberated. He 
sought her hand, and was accepted — poor child! her disin- 
terested love scarcely merits such returns.” 

“ What! is he so false as that?” I exclaimed; “but who 
could help loving you, Isolina? You are so beautiful and 
grand!” 

She smiled rather sadly, and resumed: 

“ Miss Meredith spent last winter at New York, and a 
sweeter creature 1 think I never met. She became a 
warm friend of mine; and you can understand how pain- 
ful it is for me to be the cause of wrong to her. I have 
sent the inconstant young man back to her once already, 
and I fondly hoped that his sudden passion would pass 


BEAUTIFUL RIEXZI. 


17 


away, and she would never be pained by knowing of it. 

“ And this is all the reason of your distress? You love 
no one else?” I exclaimed, with eager interest. 

Again that flash of mysterious agitation crossed her face. 

“ Who put such a thought in your brain?” she returned, 
sadly. “ I have no other love — you must believe me, 
I vanilla.” 

I did believe her; a new thought occurred to me. 

Perhaps she loved the poor young refugee in her secret 
heart, but sternly crushed the feeling for the sake of her 
friend. And if so, what a heart my beautiful sister had! 
Ah, what a grand soul! 

I admired her more than ever — I contemplated her inflex- 
ible sense of honor — I glowed with enthusiasm. 

But meantime she had told me nothing. 

There was a masked ball that night, and our father would 
have us go — in character, too, as he was never tired of show- 
ing the contrast between his two daughters. 

There moved “ The Beautiful Rienzi,” pale, serene as a 
star, in the velvet and diamonds, the lace ruffles and pointed 
diadem of Mary, the lovely Queen of Scots. Here skimmed 
the little swarthy Italian peasant, in her short petticoat, 
velvet bodice, and basket of grapes on her arm; a very Mo- 
mus of laughter, as an Edinburgh fishwife, with a crab at 
her back, jostled her and shouted, “ Caller -ou!” There 
were Turks and Dervishes, Chinese, Monks, Quakers, In- 
dians, Sultans, Stars, Nights, Mornings, Peacocks. Birds of 
Paradise, Ravens, even Mount Vesuvius— which was repre- 
sented by a lady in a pointed dress with flame-colored 
feathers in her head. 

Minerva took me under her charge— a friend of my sis- 
ter, and a great favorite of mine, because of her wit and 
sprightliness— one Miss Belle Cranstown, who shall hereafter 
be more fully set forth in this story; and under her wing I 
had a most exhaustive time, laughing at her sallies and be- 
ing introduced to some fierce-looking Moors who were scour- 
ing the room for their Desdemonas. 

Once the beauteous Mary Stuart passed me with a loving 
smile, and my merry friend Belle burst into a laugh at the 
Scottish queen's companion, a resolute-looking lady, with a 
furious ruff and long, stiff bodice. 

“ Brave Queen Bess!” she jibed, “ twist the cousin round 
your finger. That's sister Lou, my dear, and I overheard a 


18 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


Trappist telling the Pope in the Corner there that the lady 
suited the character very well. Rather hard on either Lou 
or Queen Elizabeth — I shaVt say which.” 

I was still looking with proud eyes at my lovely sister, 
whose calm perfections in her stately costume were absolutely 
dazzling, when suddenly she swung round from her ladv- 
companion and gazed with a slowly deepening flush of wild 
emotion at a holly-wreathed pillar, beside which a figure was 
standing with folded arms. A mask shielded the face, and 
the nodding plume of Napoleon’s hat cast a shadow across 
the mask, but the figure, clad a la the victorious conqueror, 
was tall and princely in its proportions, and there was a cer- 
tain forlorn grandeur in the attitude that suggested aptly 
enough my lively friend’s next remarkg: 

“ ‘ But one — a lone one ’mid the throng, 

Seemed reckless all of dance or song!’ 

as Mrs. Hemans says. What a gathering of the regal ele- 
ment! And what a coincidence! The Queen of Scots rush- 
ing to speak to poor Bony in the Island of St. Helena! But 
who is he? That envious mask hides all!” 

Who was he? I could not tell. My sister had shimmered 
forward with eyes sparkling and hands outstretched, in 
eager, tremulous joy. 

“It is — surely it must be my victor!” she murmured. 

The figure shifted; my heart sank at the low, suppressed 
voice. 

“ Your majesty looked for a Bothwell, then? Your Both- 
well tarries long, my queen, at his hermitage — better turn a 
thought to those who love your majesty faithfully.” 

“Sir,” said my sister, shrinking back, “I thought you 
some one else. You speak in character, but I understand 
the taunt, and do not heed it. Mr. Cecil Beaumont forfeits 
even my respect, when he deals in taunts.” 

The exile bowed his head in silence; closer and closer I had 
advanced, leaving my companion in the midst of a group; 
I was now beside my sister, and I clasped her hand warmly. 
Napoleon bowed to the peasant. 

“Have you forgotten — my little pleader?” he murmured 
in Italian, bending toward me. 

“Come away!” said Isolina, coldly; she drew my hand 
closer. 

“ I beg one grape from the little peasant beauty’s basket 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


19 


— one smile to lighten my weary banishment,” said the 
fallen conqueror, lightly. “Will my countrywoman re- 
fuse?” he added, in a lower tone. 

I offered him my basket, and whispered with reproach: 

“ Signor, you did not tell me of your broken troth when 
you asked me to plead for you. Go back to your true love — 
leave her not for ambition or inconstancy.” 

Then I wheeled round and went away with Isolina. We 
did not stay long after that; the peerless face of the Scottish 
queen was grave, her eyes searching and weary; ere long we 
came to our father and asked him to take us home. Cava- 
liers unnumbered thronged round us in the vestibule; one 
small, strong hand caught mine and pressed it before the 
carriage door was shut, and I found a slip of paper in my 
palm, on which I quietly read: 

“Be my friend, Ivanilla, or I cannot answer for my doom.” 

Once more the night came on; the storm shrieked fiercely. 

“ Heaven save the poor mariner!” said my father, who 
came home early to keep his lonely daughter company. 

At five o’clock it was almost dark; you would have 
thought there were a thousand fairies in the air, had you 
dared to put your head out. The very house was rocking in 
the storm. 

“Keep papa company while I dress for dinner,” said 
Isolina, with her watch for the fiftieth time in her hand. 

She left the drawing-room and went up stairs. I did not 
like her manner — it had startled me — it was so unnatural. 
I took up my harp and laid it away again. I could not 
play — I could not keep my father company. I slipped out 
and went up stairs. 

My sister was standing at the window; Sophie, the maid, 
was taking hair brushes out of a dressing-case to commence 
her work. 

“ I would like to dress as usual with you; I couldn’t wait 
with papa,” I began. 

She turned round and came toward me, and smoothed my 
cheek fondly with her hand. 

“ How — how pale you are, dearest! how cold your hand 
is! Why have you stood by that window so long? the storm 
has affrighted you!” 

A tornado of rain and sleet drowned my voice; she 


20 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 

looked with an intent gaze toward the window, as if ap- 
palled. 

“It is terrible!” she murmured. “But I’ve — I think I 
will go to my own room for a while; don’t wait for me — I 
will join you at dinner. Sophie, dress Miss Ivanilla’s 
hair.” 

“My darling, are you ill?” I cried. 

“No,” she turned her troubled face away; “I don’t feel 
very well, that is true, but I shall be all right in an hour, 
if I am not disturbed.” 

“ We shall not disturb you. Sophie, come into my room 
and dress me there; my sister is going to sleep.” 

The girl gathered up my dress and toilet requisites; 
we shut the dressing-room door behind us, and adjourned 
to my pretty bedroom, where our noise would not be 
heard. 

My heart was chill and heavy ; I felt shut out and held 
aloof, though my own hand had done it. 

“Shall I do your hair now, miss?” 

“ Wait, we have an hour yet, and I can dress in ten min- 
utes. Don’t molest me.” 

The girl lingered about, waiting my mood; she took her 
sewing, and stirred up the fire. 

“ Shall I light the gas now, Miss Ivanilla?” 

I had remonstrated with Isolina for standing at the win- 
dow looking at the storm, but I was there myself, and weep- 
ing bitterly. 

“Go away, Sophie!” I cried, sharply. “I told you not to 
molest me. I will ring if I want you.” 

I heard her go away, and the coal-fire burned drowsily, 
until the room was dark. My brow was on the window- 
pane, my eyes drearily fixed on the strip of garden beneath; 
the lamps on either side of the gate flickered like lanterns 
in a storm. I saw a woman gliding down between the black 
shrubs to the gate; the hail and the hurricane were beating 
her garments about; she battled resolutely against the blind- 
ing rain, but her figure was too slender and delicate for such 
rude warfare; she was caught up and whirled against the 
great stone parapet, and she held on there with her two 
clinging arms until there was a lull, while the storm-kmg 
regained his breath, then she opened the gate and drifted 
before the tempest down the street. 

And this woman, out in the storm, defenseless in the 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 21 

coming night, alone in the city streets! Great Heaven, this 
was Isolina! 

I dropped the curtain and went to my sister’s bedroom 
door; it was locked. I knocked once, twice. I thought 
there was a rustle within, and my breath thickened. No, 
it was but the hail rattling on her window. 

I entered the dressing-room, it was empty and dark. I 
crept back to my room, shaking and sobbing, and threw 
myself on the floor to weep; the storm, without, was but a 
summer zephyr to the storm within my heart. 

I now saw that she had a life apart from me — that I knew 
nothing of the girl I called my sister, and loved so fondly. 
She had her experiences which I must not share, which her 
father, who doted on her, must not know. Perhaps some 
mysterious ruin would come and swallow her up, and leave 
us bereft of her forever! 

Then I pictured her purity, her goodness. Oh! we must 
not leave our loved one. I sprang up and hurried on a long 
cloak, resolved in my frenzy, to pierce the mystery. I 
locked my door, sped down stairs, slipped open the front 
door and ran out into the storm. 

Ah! what a shrieking blast! These pitiless arrows of 
forked sleet, how would she survive them? In the heart of 
a resistless deluge of rain and wind, I was swept down 
the gravel walk to the gate; like her I clung to the stone 
parapet; as she had done, I waited fora lull, to open the 
gate and be whirled down the street. I would run with the 
speed of the wind and overtake her and bring her home, or 
-weep until she let me go with her. 

But when I turned my sad, half blinded eyes upon the 
home I was leaving, the clear ring of the first dinner-bell 
smote my ear. Was it possible? An hour gone by already? 
I could not overtake her now — she had been an hour in the 
storm. Were my eyes dazzled with the wind, or did I see 
a light pouring from the window of the locked bedroom? 
The heavy gate clanged from my passive hand — I gazed 
wildly up. A shadow was moving back and forward before 
the window, and now a blaze of light was visible from the 
dressing-room which I had left in darkness. 

Was I in a miraculous dream? 

I flew back to the house, stole up stairs, and gained my 
room. Sophie was knocking at my door and standing in 
the dark. 


22 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“Go, Sophie— I am here,” I said in a sinking voice; the 
tempest had almost choked me. 

“Oh, miss, I’ve been knocking, and knocking.” 

“Very well, I am here now. You can go away, Sophie. 

I intend to dress myself.” 

“ Miss, there’s not five minutes— the dressing-bell rang 
long ago.” 

“ Go, Sophie.” 

I stood aside to let her pass, fearing she might touch 
my wet clothes. When she was half way down stairs I , 
unlocked my door, flung off my dripping cloak, and lit the 
gas. 

My hands were shaking with cold and terror. I could 
scarcely unbind my heavy black hair; sleet was among its 
coils, glistening and rippling down my neck. I stood be- 
fore the mirror in a trance of bewilderment, looking at my- 
self. 

Heavens! was that wild vision I vanilla? I scarcely knew 
that white, scared face, these horrid lurid eyes. 

“ Miss Iva, it’s two minutes past six, and dinner is served,” 
said Sophie from the door. 

She came in, and I felt her looking at my back and all 
my dark rippling hair. I heard her gasp with wonder, but 
she made no remark. I turned round and she gasped again. 
She was looking at my face. 

“Dress my hair, Sophie,” I murmured; “and, my girl, 
you must see nothing — nothing, you understand? Sophie, 
be prudent!” 

She set a chair for me before the fire, and put a footstool 
beneath my feet. 

“ Miss, let me get you a glass of wine!” she whispered. 

I looked her scoffingly in the face and laughed. 

“No, you silly child,” I said; but my laugh was a ghastly 
deception. 

All the while she was arranging my hair I was trying to 
frame a question, but in vain. 

Then I heard the dressing-room door open, and a silken 
robe brush past my door, and I felt my cold face flame sud- 
den scarlet. 

“ Is that Isolina?” I cried. 

“Oh, yes, miss,” answered Sophie, catching her breath 
at my abruptness. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


23 


She came toward me with my slippers in her hand, but I 
sprang to the door, and rushed down to join my sister. 

The silken robe had vanished. I fell with force against 
the butler in the lower hall, and jingled all his glasses to- 
gether. 

“ I beg your pardon, Marks. Is my sister in the dining- 
room?" 

“Just gone in, missy. My! be you ill, Miss Ivanilla?” 

He looked agape in my face, and I had to pass in, with 
the Avild expression still unsubdued, to avoid him. 

Isolina presided in our mother’s place. Her head Avas 
turned from the door. She Avas speaking in a low, com- 
posed voice to my father. The hand Avhich held the glass 
of Avine toward my father was steady as ever, her tone 
serene and soft. 

Could this be the mad phantom whom I saw fighting 
Avith the storm? 

I slid into my place and watched her. I forgot to eat 
— to move. I Avas waiting for those blue eyes to show 
themselves. 

“Iva — are you well, child?” 

My father’s voice gave me a great start. It seemed to 
come from a hundred miles aAvay, and pierce my ear. 
The blue eyesAvere lifted at last with a quick alarm. My 
sister looked across at mein Avonder. and those eyes were 
quite steady and tearless. 

“ See Iioav excessively pale she is, Isolina — good gra- 
cious !” 

Then they both rose Avith one accord. I saw them advanc- 
ing. I shrieked and tried to evade the sudden blackness, 
and then — I kneAv no more ! 


CHAPTER III. 

IN WHICH I FIND THE DISADVANTAGE OF NOT BEING 
CLAIRVOYANT. 

“ But there sings on a sudden a passionate cry, 

There is some one dying or dead !” — Tennyson. 

In the midst of my wonder I had fainted. 

When I recovered I Avas in my sister’s arms in my own 
bedroom, my father bending over me, Avith anxiety depicted 


24 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


in everv lineament, and I was almost suffocated with the 
smell of eau de cologne. 

“ Poor little pet! Are you better now?” asked my 
father. 

“ What was it, dear?” said my father, tenderly. 

“I don’t know; I am not sick,” I said, raising myself to 
see my sister. 

She was holding my head on her arm, her countenance 
was calm and mild, but a curious flush was on one cheek, 
while the other was quite pale. 

“Rest a while. You shall not go down stairs to-night,” 
she murmured, kindly. “ I am going to sit with you 
here.” 

Our father stood for a while looking at us in rueful silence, 
then went away and left us together. 

“ What have you been doing, Iva?” she whispered. “So- 
ph ie tells me your cloak, which she has hung in the ward- 
robe, is drenched. Those slight boots on your feet are wet 
and cold as lead. Where have you been, sister?” 

To hear her ask that question I burst into a paroxysm of 
tears. 

“ How can you ask?” I sobbed. “ You who were out in 
the storm too. Where were you on this wild night?” 

“ You must be mad, Iva,” said my sister, huskily. “Who 
told you such a thing? You must get rid of the verv idea 
of it.” 

“ Isolina, I saw you from that window out in the street 
alone; and I — I went too, that I might share your danger. 
Oh, sister darling! I will be your slave, only tell me this 
dreadful secret.” 

“ Share my danger!” she muttered more to herself than 
to me. “Oh, you poor little girl!” 

“ Tell me,” I implored, vehemently, “why should you fear 
to impart your trials to one who loves you so devotedly? 
Am I not fit to be your trusted friend?” 

She gently released herself from me and rose, and I rose 
too, though I was weak and dizzy in my anxiety to keep 
holding her before me. 

“You must forget that you ever saw any one in the 
storm,” she said, looking at me with a pale, set face. 
“ You must utterly bury this night from your memory. 
As you value the peace of this family, Ivanilla, forget 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


25 


your suspicions, until I bid them live. Will you promise 
me?” 

My head sank between my hands — my tears flowed from 
a heart that was rent with disappointment as I said : 

“ I will promise what you wish.” 

Then she melted into love again — sweetly, tenderly she 
nursed me; and as I lay on the sofa watching her slender, 
willowy figure, I began to ask myself: 

“ Could it really have been she whom I saw?” 

She was moving about like a person in a dream; that 
fixed carmine stain had never gone out of her cheek ; 
otherwise she was alarmingly pale and apathetic ; her 
low, even tones might have been spoken by one who had 
been mesmerized, for all the feeling that was betrayed in 
them. ' 

Such calmness could only be the result of some great ner- 
vous excitement. 

I saw all this for some time with crawling horror; but 
there was a something in her manner which kept me 
dumb, and my own heav}’ head began to absorb my atten- 
tion. 

I thought that long evening would never end; my father 
came up two or three times, Sophie hovered about with 
anxious eyes, Isolina bent over me and bathed my temples, 
and seemed to fill the wild chaos around me. They all were 
full of cares for me, and no one looked at my sister, or saw 
the ghastly composure that I saw between the spells of fitful 
slumbers. 

But when all the house had retired for the night and 
absolute quiet was reigning, I then being intensely wake- 
ful, a crisis came which showed mine had been no fever- 
dream. 

Suddenly in the sighing midnight rose a bitter cry, so 
wild, so despairing — oh, so abandoned. 

I dragged myself from my bed into the outer hall, my 
limbs heavy as lead, and crawled to my sister’s door. 

These cries— these moaning sobs were Isolina’s. 

“ Let me come to you — let me come, sister,” I prayed, but 
the door was locked. I feebly shook it, but strength failed 
me and my head swam round.” 

“Oh, let me bear your grief with you, my darling,” I 
wailed; but these awful cries ceased not. 

I sank in a heap on the cold, marble floor, and all power 


26 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


left me for a while. When again I was able to rise, the sobs 
had died to an awful silence. 

The crisis had come, was passed, and that torn heart had 
borne its grief alone. 

I had an indisposition which confined me to my bed a 
fortnight, having contracted a heavy cold attended by a 
fever. 

One day I was sitting by the dressing-room fire in a 
deep velvet rocking-chair a convalescent, with a shawl cosily 
pinned round me, and my empty medicine bottle on the 
coal-scuttle, the kindest of doctors having announced that 
it need not be refilled. 

Two young ladies had just finished a morning call of con- 
gratulation, namely, Miss Cranstown. the quondam English 
sovereign, and her pretty sister Belle, the goddess ; and 
Sophie was ushering them down stairs. 

The elder lady, who, by the way, seemed of a very prying 
and gossiping disposition, had informed us that Mr. Beau- 
mont had brought out a new novel, which was taking the 
fashionable circles by storm ; that it evidently had modeled 
its heroine on a certain well-known beauty of our own circle. 
“ Could we guess who now? It was ten times more weird 
and exciting even then ‘Veronica/ and certainly threw a 
halo of romance over the heroine which might extend into 
real life. Was it possible we had not seen it? One would 
have thought the first eyes that looked on it -would have 
been — never mind. Get it. Miss Ivanilla, and judge if you 
never saw people like Bediviva, and her love-crazed Fate, 
the Shadow.” 

As soon as the ladies had gone, I turned eagerly to Isolina 
expecting some indignant protest from her, on the subject 
of the new book; instead, however, she quietly ignored the 
subject by taking up a book of poems and beginning to read 
to me. 

She was on her guard, for beyond the outward signs of 
care which the last fortnight's confinement might have 
brought, I saw nothing ; her face was calm and placid, her 
left hand, long and arched, upheld the gilded book in a per- 
fect curve of grace ; it was little enough like the dusky 
hands which were idly clasped in my lap. 

At last I missed what I had never noticed that hand 
divested of before, a curious double ring, with which I used 
to toy in the dusk evenings when we sat together in the 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


27 


drawing-room ; a broad, exquisitely chased band -with two 
hands clasped to hide a ruby heart, which once I had played 
with until a spring suddenly was touched and a plain golden 
hoop was revealed from underneath. 

This ring she had never explained to me ; she had once 
told me that it was not the gift of a lover, and I had asked 
no more. 

The ring no longer sparkled on her hand ; the gift which 
was not from a lover was gone; I could not say that I had 
seen it since that night of the storm. 

Had she given it back in that secret walk ? Was some 
tie broken which that double ring had represented? Had it 
anything to do with the man whose red-brown eyes were a 
prophecy of coming tragedy? 

Oh, dull eyes of mortals! Why can they not pierce the 
vail of circumstances, and warn the heart from woe? 

“ This book is too sad for you, Iva. I will read another.” 

“ Oh, let me share it — were it ten times as sad, let me 
sulfer too.” 

I started at my own words and recalled myself ; she was 
speaking of the poem, I of the secret. She rose and put away 
the book. I saw that she understood me, by the sad and 
furtive look she cast upon me, and I blamed my inadvertence 
when she kissed me so mournfully. 

Youth is the season of elasticity; I soon become strong 
and well again, and, with health, my spirits flung off much 
of their depression. 

It was a considerable time before my blind eyes were 
opened to another change in my sister — a change which, 
like the rest, seemed invisible to all else. 

She no longer beamed with loving affection toward our 
father; her sportive tenderness was all gone; she sat be- 
fore him with downcast eyes — she watched him with furtive 
perplexity and sorrow in her sweet face. I have seen her 
shrink from his paternal caresses, with dismay unspeakable 
in her manner. 

This change, of all, was most incomprehensible; a se- 
cret mildew seemed withering the very roots of our family 
love, and I alone was doomed to see the changes which to 
others were invisible — a gulf was widening between our 
bright Isolina and us — hands were dragging her into dark- 
ness, and I bound by a promise to keep silence, alone saw 
the threatening ruin. 


f 


28 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


About a week after my illness, Isolina came with a letter 
which, with a very indignant face, she gave to me to read. 
It was from Washington, written in a pretty, girlish hand 
and signed “ Lillia Meredith," and these were the contents: 

“My Dear, Dearest Friend: — I have fallen into trouble, and don’t 
know any one whom I could fly to sooner than you. I was to have 
been married last week to my dear Cecil, but to my alarm and mortifi- 
cation he has asked the time to be postponed, which I have accord- 
ingly granted, until his pleasure. He is unaccountably changed of late — 
indeed, I have reason to believe he has fallen in love with some lady 
in New York, and tired of poor Lillia, from what he has let fall. I am 
quite frightened about it, and come to you to know what I shall do. 
Could you find out if my suspicions are correct and tell me? I would 
go to her and beg her not to take my Cecil from me. Did you 
read his last book? Hasn’t he genius, eh? But his heroic Redi- 
viva— I am so jealous of her— not one whit like poor little me. And 
there’s a queer little spirit flits in at the end of it, who, strange to 
say, a gentleman who was here the other day, says, is exactly like your 
foreign sister, Ivamlla. Such a mystic — so incomprehensible— an 
emanation of fervor and fidelity, who brings Rediviva and her Shadow 
together like a good fairy. I cried over the book and sat up three 
nights to read it; i am so proud of my Cecil, but I hope his brain fan- 
cies will not turn him from his Lilly. Write immediately, my dear, 
darling Isolina, and tell me what to think. Cecil is going to New 
York next week; perhaps you will see*him. If so will you put in a 
good word for me? Lovingly thy ‘lily flower,’ 

“Lillia Meredith.’’ 

This most girlish epistle being duly read, I handed it back 
to Isolina with a curious look. 

She was quite calm, if — as sometimes I imagined — she 
really loved Cecil Beaumont, remarkably calm, if she re- 
ally intended giving him up to his betrothed. 

“ What are you going to do?” I asked. 

“I am going to invite Miss Meredith here to spend the 
winter with us," she answered, with the same indignant 
glitter in her eyes; “and I am going to see that Mr. Beau- 
mont keeps his engagement with her. He cannot perse- 
cute me while she is here." 

“ But if he cannot love her any longer," I pleaded, falter- 
ing with dismay, as I remembered Cecil’s desperate trust 
in my advocacy, “ if he loves you so much, you cannot 
force back the heart torrents into a worn-out channel. Oh! 
dear sister, take him to your love — tell Lillia Meredith the 
truth." 

“ Impossible!’’ 

She turned ashy pale; never had she looked on me so 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


29 


sternly. I turned away in dismay and prayed that she would 
not spurn me. 


“ Don’t look so distressed, dear!” she said. “ You surely 
don’t expect me to love him when I can’t love him. Your 
anxiety on his account does your heart credit, but, my pet, 
it is ridiculous. He must marry Lillia Meredith.” 

“ But if he will not?” 

She laughed almost hysterically. 

“ Then he can keep on crying for the moon,” was the 
reply; and she sat down resolutely to her writing-desk. 

In a few minutes she had handed me the note she had 
rapidly penned, and bent over the desk to dash off an ad- 
dress, while I read it. 

“Dear Lily Flower:— Make your arrangements and come immedi- 
ately to me. I wish you to be prepared to spend the winter with us. 
The change will be beneficial to your health— besides other reasons 
touching upon your happiness. The contents of your letter I shall 


discuss when we meet. 


Your sincere friend, 

“ I. Rienzi.” 


I gave back the letter with a deep sigh. I could not 
help my apprehensions from becoming visible; besides I 
sympathized with the poor soul who had loved my sister so 
passionately, and I did not feel half so much for th e fiancee. 
Women never do. 

“What if, after all. Miss Meredith fails to rebind him?” 
I asked. 

She turned around with the sealed letter in her hand, 
and met my clouded looks. I cannot describe the sor- 
row, the remorse, the resolution in my sister’s face. She 
pressed her hand hard upon her breast, and the very soul 
whose hidden face I longed to see, seemed trembling on her 
lips. 

“ Promise to have no secret plots against me in favor of 
any one!” she cried. “ Promise to obey my directions in 
all that pertains to me!” 

“I will obey you now and always!” I sobbed. 

“Thanks!” she murmured, softly. Then she restrained 
herself, and went down stairs to dispatch her letter. 

On that day, a gentleman who was the principal of a cer- 
tain musical club which I shall designate as the “Cybelle 
Society,” called upon my sister and me to prefer a petition. 

The members of the society, which consisted of several 
of the most talented ladies and gentlemen in_the city, were 


30 


BEA UTIFUL MENZI. 


about to hold an amateur concert on behalf of the soldiers 

of the battle of , who were crowded into the hospital at 

Washington without the means to cling to their shattered 
lives. The concert would realize, it was hoped, enough to 
build another hospital, and command the services of physi- 
cians and nurses. Would the two young ladies, Miss 
Isolina Rienzi and her sister, who, it was well known, were 
both accomplished musicians, object to render their ser- 
vices at such a short notice, and sing some little piece on 
the occasion?” 

“What date have you fixed for the concert?” asked my 
sister. 

“The twenty-ninth of November.” 

“And this is the 19th. We should have ten days for 
preparation. Tf my sister is agreed, we shall be most happy 
to be of use, Professor Emerson.” 

“ What does my sister say?” said the professor, turn- 
ing his pleasant smile upon me; “is she Yankee enough at 
heart to brave discomfort for the sake of the gallant fellows 
who braved death?” 

“ She’s courageous for anything, if she thinks it’s right,” 
said my sister, with a fond, proud smile. 

The end of it was, that I slipped my hand into Isolina’s 
and said in a shy voice that I would do whatever she did; 
and Professor Emerson went away delighted, promising 
to send us our parts immediately, that we might commence 
instant practice. • 

It arrived two hours later — a mammoth roll of music, 
and a printed circular of directions, which informed us how 
far from a sinecure our part was to be. 

I declared it an imposition, when I found myself and 
my harp introduced again and again, and declared that 
I should fulfill but my promise, which was to sing “ one 
little song,” thereby presenting an utter contrast to my 
sister. 

She plunged into her allotted part with almost fierce 
avidity, and from the hour in which the music arrived, 
devoted herself to mastering it. For three days I scarcely 
saw her. 

On the fourth day a gentleman called with a note from 
Professor Emerson, which laughingly he delivered. Its 
purport was that Mr. Ernest Lindhurst had been ap- 
pointed as tenor in “La ci darem” (Op. Don Giovanni), 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


31 


of which Miss Ivanilla liad the air, and with her kind per- 
mission he would sing the duet with her once or twice 
before rehearsal. 

“ I have been introduced to Miss Ivanilla Rienzi before, 
under widely different auspices,” said the gentlemamwith a 
smile of keen amusement at my embarrassed looks — “has 
the Italian peasant forgotten that she was presented to her 
spiritual father at Mrs. Lesmar’s assembly?” 

I lifted my eyes and looked at him attentively. 

“ Are you — were you the Pope?” I asked, with sudden 
recognition; “did Miss Cranstown introduce you to me as 
Pio Nono?” 

“ I consider myself deeply flattered to be again recog- 
nized in such different guise,” replied the gentleman, in a 
low voice. 

“ I am afraid you will be shocked,” I said, thrilling with 
a new and subtle ecstasy, which I feared my very voice 
would betray; “I am afraid you will wish you had to sing 
duets with" some one else, when I confess that I Avas 
meditating a revolt against my part of the programme, and 
in consequence have not practiced a note.” 

He arched his handsome eyebrows in pathetic horror. 

“ You are not going to persist in this rebellion?” he ex- 
claimed. with a ring of disappointment in histones. 

“Are you to be Don Giovanni?” I asked. 

“ I would have been, were you Zerlina.” 

“ Then I shall be Zerlina. Come; here is the piece; you 
commence.” 

We turned to my harp, and began our first duet to- 
gether. 

By the time my new friend had taken his departure, I 
was almost as enthusiastic about the successs of the Cybelle 
Society’s concert as Isolina. 


CHAPTER IY. 

TOO FOND BY HALF. 

Demetrius— “ Oh, why rebuke you him that loves you so? Lay breath 
so bitter to your bitter foe.” Midsummer-Night’s Dream. 

The ten days of preparation passed quickly away, and the 
evening preceding the momentous 29th found us returning 


32 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


home from our first rehearsal, delighted with the promise of 
success which the manager had predicted. 

A letter and a card were waiting on the dressing-table 
for us; the letter Sophie gave to Isolina, the card to me. 

With some surprise I read the name, “ Cecil Beaumont/’ 
and turned to the girl. 

“ Was this card left for me, Sophie?” 

“ Yes, Miss Iva, and he has been waiting down stairs for 
you to come back half an hour.” 

“ Shall I go, Isolina?” I asked, timidly. 

She looked up from her letter with a rather scornful laugh. 

“ Poor boy!” she exclaimed; “yes, go, Ivanilla, and pre- 
pare him for the bliss which to-morrow brings. Miss Mere- 
dith writes that she is coming on the 29th. Do your best to 
put him in a fitting frame of mind.” 

“ I don’t think I can,” I cried, despairingly. 

But I went down stairs, nevertheless, and reluctantly ad- 
mitted myself into the drawing-room. 

Indeed I was not glad to see Cecil Beaumont. Slowly 
I advanced until I stood close beside him before he noticed 
me, and, in a voice of cold constraint, I bade him good- 
evening.” 

He started, and turned toward me. 

“ I could almost despise myself for coming here, but you 
said you would be my friend, and I have been building upon 
your friendship,” he said, in a low, husky tone. 

“ It is useless — oh, it is useless,” I cried, with a sudden 
flood of tears. “ I have tried and I have failed.” 

“ What does that mean?” he exclaimed, catching my hand, 
and chafing it between his palms. “Does she love another?” 

“I cannot tell,” I sobbed; “but this I fear, my friend, 
my poor Cecil — that she does not love you.” 

“ She does not love me — she does not love me!” he re- 
peated, with a wild smile. “I feel quite stunned — quite 
stunned !” 

How should I begin to prepare his mind for the coming 
of his betrothed? I felt it to be such a wretched farce that 
my manner was dry and almost contemptuous as I alluded 
to the subject. 

“You betrothed yourself to a very amiable lady,” I said, 
“you had better — your duty is to go back to her.” 

“I need not ask if this is the course your heart would 
suggest,” he answered, keenly, “I only ask you if it is at all 


BEA UTIFUL IUEKZT. 


33 


likely that- any man who loved your sister would show sanity 
in forgetting her for another ?” 

“You should remember the claims of that other,” I pur- 
sued, grimly. “ I think you should put duty before incli- 
nation. I know Miss Meredith loves you.” 

lie confronted me with a fierce determination in his eyes. 
His face seemed slowly hardening into stone. 

“ Begone with such heartless platitudes!’ he hissed. “I 
come to you with a famished soul, and you feed me with 
husks that your own eyes mock at! Girl, I swear — I swear 
to win Isolina!” 

“ You are a madman!” I uttered, drawing away from him. 
“Tell me what you are going to do?’’ I continued, feeling 
it hard to resist throwing off my sister’s colors, and joining 
him in an attempt to carry her heart in spite of herself. 

“ I am going to end this wretched game!” he said, vehe- 
mently, “and. mv little friend, I have sworn to be the victor. 
I do not think you are displeased.” 

“ No,” I admitted, in a low, excited tone, completely car- 
ried away with his mystical power by this time; “ I think 
— I am almost sure she must love you, and it is only Miss 
Meredith’s claims which stand in the way ” 

A cold hand touched mine and drew me backward. My 
sister came between us, her eyes full of reproach, her lips 
quivering. 

“ What! plotting against me after your promise?” she 
said, regarding me sadly. “ Oh, sister! I thought I could 
trust you.” 

The gentle tone cut me to the heart. I could not say one 
word in self-defense. 

She turned to Cecil Beaumont, and fixedly met his pas- 
sionate gaze. 

“ You will have it then ?” she breathed. “You are de- 
termined to drive me to extremity?” 

“ Yes,” said Cecil Beaumont. 

“ Then you will have a final answer to-morrow.” 

“ May I fix the hour, Isolina?” 

“ Pshaw ! Well, as you please, sir.” 

“ To-morrow night after the concert is over, then.” 

“ Too late. Come here before we leave the house.” 

“ I shall certainly come here as you have asked, but as 
you have given me permission to name an hour for our in- 
terview, it shall be after the concert.” 


34 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


“ Very well, Mr. Beaumont.” 

It would be difficult to describe the tone in which this 
brief colloquy was conducted — the quiet scorn on my sister’s 
part, the implacable defiance of the man. Both were deter- 
mined, yet one must yield; and which should it be? 

“ I shall wish you good- evening, then, Miss Isolina,” said 
the gentleman, bowing profoundly. 

She inclined her head. 

“ Good-night, little friend.” 

He took my hand, and obeying an irresistible impulse, I 
went with him to the door. 

“ You think my case hopeless,” he muttered rapidly, “ but 
you need not. I have a hold on her which will force her to 
listen. She will be glad to cling to me — see now if she is 
not.” 

With these portentous words he wrung my hand, pressed 
it to his hot lips, and withdrew. 

I came back to Isolina and flung my arms round her. 

“ You must reconsider the question,” I cried, anxiously, 
“ take him if you can — oh, do not rouse his desperate nature 
any further. He says he has a hold on you, which will force 
you to listen.” 

“A hold?” she repeated, incredulously, “what hold has he 
— poor infatuated boy? Less than the meanest soul that ever 
sued for my favor — and yet more than you have, my dear 
little sister — closely knit as you are to me, more than he 
dreams of, unhappy boy. Pshaw! what am I saying? Non- 
sense, I believe. To-morrow will rid me of Cecil Beaumont, 
I promise you.” 

‘ ‘ If Lillia Meredith comes to-morrow she will only 
heighten the storm, Isolina.” 

My sister sighed wearily and despondingly. 

“ Poor little Lilly,” was all she said. 

****** 

The twenty-ninth of November. 

It came in through leaden banks of clouds, upon a white- 
draped earth. A white pall of snow had dropped slowly, 
through the night, upon the grim, iron-like streets ; the 
feathery morsels flitted down all through the pallid day, 
muffling the heavy noises and loading the gaunt trees with 
sheet-white garlands. 

Gradually the rumbling car and carriage gave place to 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


35 


jingling bells; all New York was out a-sleighing; Broadway 
and Fifth avenue were flashing gay with bright equipages ; 
the poorest streets assumed a holiday air. At twelve o’clock 
Mr. Lindhurst made his appearance in a fanciful looking 
sleigh, shaped much like a nautilus shell, with a downy 
heart of crimson velvet in which he kindly invited me to 
nestle, and experience my first sleigh-ride. 

Delightedly I consented, and sat in dumb enjoyment as 
we dashed through the noiseless snow, and the myriad equi- 
pages; it was like a fairy scene to me, or a kaleidoscopic view 
of St. Petersburg, and I felt grand as a Russian Czarina. 

Yet perfect as was my pleasure, it received a check, when 
on passing one of the principal hotels, I saw Cecil Beaumont 
slowly descending the marble steps. He saw me at the same 
instant, and lifted his hat, with an ineffable smile of 
triumph, or daring, which sent my thoughts trooping home 
to my sister and her troubles. 

“ Take me home, Mr. Lindhurst,” I said, gravely. 

“What? and you have not been out an hour. And see, 
the sun is just melting his way through that bank of clouds 
— the snow has stopped, and we are going to have a brilliant 
day. You will lose all the beauty of the scene if you go now, 
dear Miss I vanilla. ” 

“ There are other days with sunshine.” 

“ Thanks for that gracious half-promise; I shall see that 
you keep it with me. But are you tired or cold?” 

“ I am not tired and I am not cold, Mr. Lindhurst, and I 
never enjoyed anything half as much — but I would like to 
go home now to Isolina, who is alone.” 

“ How you two love each other.” 

He sped around a corner, and we went flying home. 

As I went up stairs, Sophie met me with a piece of news 
which did not tend to relieve my mind. 

Miss Meredith had arrived. 

When I entered the dressing-room, I found Isolina in 
earnest conversation with a fair, blonde young lady 
who had large blue eyes, a very pretty complexion, and a 
mass of light glossy hair gathered in a mass of coquettish 
-tendrils upon her forehead. Further than these attractions, 
she had no claim to superiority above the average fashion- 
able lady, unless in the possession of a very winning, inno- 
cent manner, which made her appear even younger than 
she was. 


36 


BE A UTIFUL RIENZI. 


The first glance in Lillia Meredith’s face assured me that 
she could never rival tnv peerless sister either in tniud or at- 
tractions. I no longer blamed the inconstant lover. 

*• I vanilla, this is your expected visitor, Miss Meredith,” 
said tnv sister, turning to me. 

Miss" Meredith's eyes had been full of tears, in tribute 
to something Isolina had been saying, but now she sprang 
up and came to me, wiping them away with a sprightly 
ai r. 

•* Dear me, everything's hazy before me, I've been crying 
so. Now I can see you plainer, and what a romantic stvle 
von have! The nine muses look out of your eyes. Miss 
I van i 11a — oh! what would I not give to have a sister or a 
confidante like you! You are just exactly like his des- 
cription! — oh, dear! Isolina has been telling me the most 
horrible tales of mv poor wicked Cecil! Sha’n’t we tell her 
all about it. Isolina?” 

Isolina having gravely consented, Lillia, without permit- 
ting me to remove my wrappings, began instantly to confide. 

“ You see I nursed Cecil when he was a sick prisoner — 
my father w (l s governor of the prison, you know — and I 
grew to adore him, though he was a Southern officer, and 
just as proud and fierce as they generally are: and for my 
sake, when he was liberated he settled himself in Washing- 
ton and became an author; and though papa is very wealthy, 
he never said anything against my Cecil, just because he 
saw that my heart was set on having him. I am so glad I 
am papa’s only child and can do as I like. But, oh! isn’t it 
dreadful to think of — he has been cool to me these months 
past, and Isolina tells me that she is the lady for whom he 
has forsaken me. Poor Isolina! and wretched, wicked Cecil, 
to torture her when she does not like him. No wonder she 
is so distressed about it. 

“lie has been in New York here, dangling after Isolina 
who does not want him, and writing me the most 
horrible notes, half a dozen lines in length, but enough to 
put me in fits. Listen to this one, which came three days 
ago: 

“ • You shall over he the sweet prison flower of my memory, which 
wooed me hack to life — hut no, no ! You shall never wither in mv chill 
keeping ; I give you hack your gentle love, my child of sunshine, and 
put the bridge of silence between us forevermore. Fate- -remorseless 
terrible urges me on to try the fatal chance once more, which gives me 
life or death. C. B,’ ” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


37 


“Now. what in the world does he mean? I am frightened 
to death about it; in fact, that is what brought me here so 
suddenly. I think he is catching a fever — I am sure he must 
be sick, poor fellow!” 

Here the young lady subsided into tears again, which she 
petulantly wiped away, and resumed. 

“It it wasn't for this idea, I wouldn’t have another word to 
say to him, not I, indeed! but I think it is just a sick whim 
he has got, and when he sees me he will forget it, and be 
fonder of me than ever, to make amends. So, when he 
comes here this evening, I am just going to be as kind as if 
nothing had happened, and I won’t appear to know any- 
tking about his foolish penchant for Isolina.” 

Having thus arranged her plans to her satisfaction, Miss 
Meredith dried her tears and ran to open her boxes that we 
might see her last new dresses. 

I could not but realize that this simple child was quite 
unfitted for such a man as Cecil Beaumont; his vehement 
depth of passions would annihilate her soft nature; she 
would never climb to his standard, she could not even 
look up to his moral height, without becoming confused 
and dizzy. 

And yet, if ever giant soul required a strong, calm spirit 
to guide it into rectitude, his did. 

Having displayed her wardrobe, and chattered herself 
into better spirits, Miss Meredith, finding Isolina too grave 
for conversation, turned her little flatteries and caresses to 
me, and finally conveyed me to her room. I sang for her 
and related bits of Italian romance, and had succeeded in 
amusing her, when the short afternoon drew to a close. 

Mv pretty companion, tired with her journey, had fallen 
asleep, curled up in the end of the sofa, and I was free to 
seek my sister, who had been alone in her dressing-room all 
the afternoon — not practicing once, but quite silent. 
The door of the room was ajar as I crossed the hall from 
Miss Meredith’s room, and the bright gas-light revealed my 
sister standing — a familiar attitude for her — with her back 
to the room, at the window. Her head was bent forward, 
and I feared she was grieving, so with an eager foot 1 ap- 
proached her and fondly put my arm round her waist, in- 
tending to comfort her if I could. 

She started violently, gasped, then turned her face to me, 


38 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


and I saw affright written there, as plainly as if I had been 
a horrible vision from the other world. 

‘‘Darling, it is only Iva!’’ I murmured, soothingly. 

She had a letter in her hand. I now divined the cause of 
her agitation; she did not wish me to see the letter, yet she 
would not wound my feelings by openly concealing it. 

The brilliant gas-light was shining on the ope?) page — my 
sister's eyes were jealously watching mine. I hid my face 
on her arm; my feelings of devotion and fidelity were quiv- 
ering beneath the shock of her distrust; my cheeks were 
scarlet, and tingled on her arm. 

“ Put it away,” I whispered; “I wish to know nothing, 
but I have seen a name.” 

She folded up the letter, steadily regarding me. 

“ What name did you see, I vanilla?” 

“ Mrs. Victor Joselyn!” 

She turned her back to me, and looked out of the dark 
window again. 

“Well ” she said, in a strange, unnatural tone; 

“would you like to ask anything about her?” 

“ I don’t want to know anything about her that you are 
not inclined to tell,” I rejoined, in a trembling voice. 

“ She is — or rather was — connected with a friend of mine; 
that is all,” said Isolina, after a pause; “ but it matters 
little now who she was — she is dead.” 

I did not know what to say; I was unaccountably 
shocked. 

“ Are you satisfied?” asked Isolina, turning an ashy white 
face to me again. Her expression was so despairing that I 
once more flung my arms round her, and burst into tears. 

“Let me comfort you!” I sobbed; “oh, darling, let me!” 

“ Love me, Ivanilla — there’s no one else to love me!” was 
the only answer. 

Isolina roused herself from a trance of grief, and went to 
her desk. I saw now that she had been writing; a sealed 
envelope lay on the stand, which she proceeded to stamp, 
after which she lifted it irresolutely and looked at me. 

“ I would like this mailed to-night,” she said- in an hum- 
ble tone, “and I scarcely like to give it to Nelson myself, 
as his curiosity might be aroused. You are always sending 
letters to mamma, and it would be nothing unusual.” 

“ Give it to me,” I cried, eagerly. 

“And you will not — will not ” 


BEAUTIFUL B1ENZI. 


39 


“ Look at it? My darling, you may trust Iva.” 

She gave me the letter, with a sweet look of love, and I 
went away, eager to serve her. 

Half-way down stairs I met Sophie. 

“Go up and help Miss Meredith to dress for dinner; it is 
almost six o’clock/' 

“Yes, Miss Iva. There’s the ge ” 

“ I cannot wait now, Sophie; I will be back in a moment 
to hear what you wish to say.” 

Why did I not listen? 

In the second hall I encountered Cecil Beaumont laying 
his hat and gloves on the stand. He met me with a jaunty 
air. His eyes were glittering — his small sharp teeth were 
glittering also; there was a curious expression about him of 
being “ girded for the fight.” 

“ How do you do' this evening, sir?” I uttered, hiding 
the letter in the folds of my dress as I approached him. 
“Will you walk into the drawing-room for one moment 
alone?” 

“ What does my little friend bring me to-night?” he re- 
turned, seizing my hand. The ill-omened envelope rustled 
against my silken skirt. 

“ Ha! does she send me a dismissal by letter?” he cried. 

“ Sir, this letter is not for you. Let me go.” 

“ For whom then? For whom ?” 

His eyes blazed with sudden apprehension. In an in- 
stant he had drawn me into the drawing-room and shut the 
door. 

“ For whom?” he repeated, in the same tone. 

“ Sir, I decline to tell you. Let me pass.” 

“Did she write it, Isolina?” 

I hesitated. 

“ This is most cowardly conduct,” I retorted. 

“ She did write it then!” 

By this time the letter was in his hand. The room being 
dim he deliberately drew me across to the fire, and bent over 
the address, his hand trembling too much with insane jeal- 
ousy to allow him to read. 

“Monster!” I cried, springing forward. 

With superhuman quickness I snatched it from him and 
dashed it into the burning heart of the fire. 

The ill-fated missive curled and broke into yellow flames 
in an instant. 


40 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


When the last blue flame had given place to charred red 
rings, I turned haughtily to Cecil Beaumont. 

“ You have forfeited my esteem, sir. I wish you good- 
evening, and go to inform my sister of the fate of her 
letter.” 

He paid no heed to me. His pale, dangerous face was full 
of scornful amusement. 

“ What does she write to him for? What has she to do 
writing to Dr. Pern ” 

“ Hush!” I hissed, putting my hands on my ears. “I 
shall listen no more. If you are a gentleman, forbear!” 

He gazed at me incredulously, then burst into a loud, ex- 
cited laugh. 

“ Does she make a tool of yon, poor little girl? Does she 
tell you nothing for your fidelity?” 

I stamped my foot with rage. 

“ Sir!” I exclaimed, “it would be well if I knew nothing 
when I fall into the unscrupulous hands of a desperado, who 
infringes the rules of honor!” 

I rushed to Isolina's room. 

“That madman — that Cecil Beaumont is down stairs 
waiting to see you,” I gasped. “ He wrenched your letter 
from me and read the name — only the name, sister — do not 
look so dreadful. I did not hear it, and I burned the letter 
for fear he might open it. Oh! something dreadful is going 
to happen; he is half insane.” 

“ Dreadful enough!” said Isolina. 

She went down stairs with a face as cold and impla- 
cable as Nemesis herself, and the drawing-room door was 
shut. 

I wrung my hands with terror, and felt half -possessed. 
But I had to calm myself and go to Lillia. Yet all the 
while she dressed and chattered I felt faint and sick from 
inward apprehension. 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


41 


CHAPTER V. 

WHEN AN ITCKESISTIBLE BODY MEETS AN IMMOVABLE 
BODY, WHAT IS THE CONSEQUENCE? 

“For she has tint her lover dear, 

Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow. ” 

Bbaes of Yabbow. 

I managed to convey Miss Meredith in safety down 
to the dining-room where my father sat waiting. Some 
gay badinage took place between him and the young 
lady, during which I sat with my ear strained to catch the 
sound of my sister’s voice, almost oblivious to what was go- 
ing on beside me. 

And while my tortured fancy was picturing the scene of 
despair and sorrow which was being enacted within the 
room overhead, Isolina quietly tripped in and took her place 
at the table. 

“Who have you got up stairs, my dear?” asked papa. 

“ Mr. Cecil Beaumont is amusing himself until Miss Lillia 
is ready to accompany him to the concert.” 

“ What — me?” 

The young lady’s face beamed with delight, but she kept 
her eyes demurely upon her plate, and papa was none the 
wiser. 

“ Hadn’t I better go and see him when dinner is over?” 
whispered the girl, in a flutter of excitement. 

“ Better dress for the concert, and try the potency of that 
rose siik and chatelaine,” I responded, gayly. 

“ Oh, yes, indeed, I had better look my very best, when I 
make my appearance. Poor, dear Cecil !” 

She could eat nothing, and laughed and talked almost 
hysterically, until we were released from the table, when she 
was in a fever of haste to get her evening toilet over. 

She was, indeed, a lovely creature when thus equipped, 
and as I looked at her, I began to think it quite possible 
that her backsliding lover might prefer her smiles to my sis- 
ter’s scorn, and return to his allegiance, thus ending the 
embryo tragedy. 

“And wnat are you going to wear?” asked the young 


42 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


lady, as I flung her white opera-cloak round her pearly 
shoulders. 

“I? oh, anything! The saints defend me from attract- 
ing anybody’s attention. I shall get behind my harp when 
my time comes to sing alone.” 

“ (Jome, Lillia,” said my sister, entering at that moment, 
“ it is time you were going down to your cavalier.” 

“Dressed so soon! Oh, and what a magnificent creature 
you are, Isolina! Look, Miss Iva — are you not proud of 
f The Beautiful Rienzi?’ ” 

I turned and looked at my dear sister; and I protest that 
such loveliness struck through my heart with a keen, yet 
foreboding fondness. 

I could not but feel convinced that Cecil Beaumont would 
never return to his homage— -to the pretty fiancee while such 
a star blazed before him. 

Perhaps Lillia was thinking the same; a shadow crossed 
her soft brows, and tears stole into her eyes. 

“ No wonder everybody goes crazy about you!” she sighed. 
“ I declare, it must be rather a serious matter to have such 
attractions! Just think of the hearts you’ll be forced to 
break, before you are gray-haired!” 

A look of utter misery settled upon my sister’s face; she 
stood unrolling her music, absently, while her deep, ques- 
tioning eyes fixed themselves upon the flickering coals, with 
an expression almost of fierce despair. 

The stream of inward emotion was conquered in a mo- 
ment; she turned almost sadly to us, and began criticising 
Miss Meredith’s dress, with anxious care. 

“I am pleased with your appearance,” she said. “I 
never saw you more becomingly attired. Now, go down to 
Mr. Beaumont, and try to make him forget his foolish in- 
constancy.” 

“ What must I say?” responded the girl, helplessly. “ If 
he should be in one of his darkest moods, I will be too 
frightened to say a word to him. Oh, do come with me.” 

“ 1? No; I have to look over this chorus,” said Isolina, 
shrinking back. “ Iva, do you go.” 

So Miss Meredith and I went down together, and I drew 
the little trembling creature into the drawing-room, where 
the loved of her heart was pacing back and forward with a 
deep, introverted light in his eyes. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


43 


“Oh, Cecil dear!— you have been ill; that was it,” said 
the poor girl, bursting into tears at the first glance. 

“ Ah! shall I bear you to the play— the tableau?” he ex- 
claimed, in an excited manner. “ Shall you be witness, 
and applaud the grand scene?” 

“The concert — yes!” replied Lillia, relapsing into deeper 
alarm; “I’ll go anywhere with you, dear Cecil, that you 
wish.” 

A smile curled the lips of the lover, but an imperative 
glance from me checked the wild sally which w r as on his 
lips. He gazed at me strangely a moment, then took Miss 
Meredith’s hand politely and seated her. 

“I am glad to meet my lily-flower again,” he murmured; 
“ will she breathe some of her innocent balm on the world- 
weary heart of her Cecil? I have not touched so tender a 
hand, nor met so kind a gaze, since last I looked upon 
you.” 

She watched him half incredulously through her tears, 
as if such phrases were a new thing from him, but a some- 
thing strange and terrifying to her in his haggard face soon 
caused her to cower closer to him, and again exclaim: 

“ You have been ill, Cecil— oh! how terrible you are 


looking!” 

He looked down at her, a calm, thoughtful glance, such 
as a brother might have bestowed, and began explaining to 
her the severity of his literary labor, and I, dubiously 
enough, slipped from the room and left- them together. 

“Well, are they reconciled in good faith?” inquired 
Isolina, anxiously, when I made my appearance. 

I related the meeting, and eagerly asked how she had 
managed to bring him round to ‘such a measure of sub- 
mission. . , , . . , , j 

“ I informed him of a certain obstacle which debarred 
me from marrying him!” she replied, steadily, while 
she closed her piano and locked it. “ Having become 
convinced that further hopes were impossible, he himself 
proposed to return to Lillia, and signify liis inteutions by 
accompanying her to the concert this evening. 

“And is it possible that he has given you up so calmly. 

“He cannot — or I cannot — remove the obstacle; there- 
fore he submitted to the inevitable.” 

At half-past seven we left the house with my father, who 
this night was radiant with pride and playful tenderness, as 


u 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


he drew the furs round us, and took his seat opposite. Mr. 
Beaumont's sleigh had not yet arrived, so we left them still 
tete-a-tete. 

How clearly I remember that November night! 

Through the crisp night air and bright moonlight, we 
whisked cozily along to the clang of silver sleigh-bells; my 
father gayly chatting to me, my sister sitting quiet and 
motionless in the corner, I with my eyes intently fixed upon 
the passing objects. From the same hotel from which I 
had seen Beaumont descending in the evening, I noticed 
two gentlemen in loose British cloaks such as were then 
worn, stepping into a sleigh, drawn by a large white horse. 

I watched the commonplace vehicle with no common- 
place interest, from the mere fact of its proceeding from 
that hotel, and in the same direction as our own. The im- 
patient steed which was certainly better fed than the 
generality of its class, ran abreast with us for some rods, 
then darted past and fell into line with a long stream of 
equipages just ahead of us, where the jingle of the bells 
mingled with our own. 

Having watched this sleigh out of sight, I turned my 
attention to something else, and found by the increasing 
throng that we were slowly nearing the hall in which the 
Cybelle Society were to give the concert. 

Long lines of vehicles were waiting to deposit their 
freight at the entrance doors, and a slow stream of those 
already emptied were moving onward to give place. 

Bv an adroit movement our coachman succeeded in de- 
positing us on the carpeted pavement much in advance of 
our turn. 

But although I lingered on the marble top step, with 
a hundred eager eyes fastened on me, and my father already 
leading Isolina along the corridor; and although I kept them 
waiting some minutes while I gathered up my shawl on my 
arm and looked for my glove, I failed to see again those 
two muffled figures. 

With an exclamation at my own foolishness, I joined the 
others, and before long we found ourselves among the per- 
formers, who, among much talking, greetings, laughter, 
and fluttering of robes, were receiving a few last instruc- 
tions from the indefatigable Professor Emerson. 

Isolina and I stood hand in hand together, hoping we 
would not be separated on the platform, and we were con- 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


45 


scientioualy listening to the professor, when a group of our 
friends discovered us, swooped around us, carried off my 
sister from mv grasp to hear something better worth listen- 
ing to than the professor’s dry dissertation, and I was left 
almost alone with a pair of keen blue eyes beaming do wii 
upon me. 

“ Cheer up, Zerlina,” said Mr. Lindhurst, extending his 
hand. “.Do not look so forsaken Miss Rienzi. I will do 
my best to fill the vacuum, if von will allow me.” 

Just as the signal was given for the singers to make their 
appearance on the platform, a hand was laid on my 
shoulder, and a voice whispered in my ear: 

“ Where is Isolina? Quick!” 

The breath scorched my ear. I turned in affright and 
beheld Cecil Beaumont. 

“Why, sir, what are you doing here? Where is Mis's 
Meredith?” 

“ Oh. I see her. In time after all,” he muttered, turning 
from me and pushing through the crowd. 

Isnliua was in effect coming toward him with all haste; 
but she did not see him; her eyes were resting on me; she 
was anxious to reach me, that we might enter the hall and 
be together. 

Not until she had almost touched him, was she aware of 
Mr. Beaumont’s presence. 

They met not five rods from me. and my ears, sharpened 
bv extreme anxiety, drank in ail that passed between 
them. 

“ Take my arm, Isolina.” 

“ What — you? Where is Lillia?” 

“Curse Lillia! I beg your pardon, but she’s right 
enough. I implore you to take my arm — you can t ciusli 
in alone.” 

“ I prefer to crush in alone. Go back to Miss Mere- 
dith.” 

“ Isolina, look in my face and see if I can bear much more. 
Be wise and grant this trifling favor.” 

His red-brown eyes were flashing — his face dangerously 
white. No wonder she looked and gasped. 

“ Poor wretched boy.” she exclaimed; “can I help it? I 
do not wish to give you pain, Heaven knows.” 

“Grant this favor then— such a mere rag of mercy to 
throw me — your hand on my arm sixty seconds. See, your 


48 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


sister’s hand is on Mr. Lindhurst’s arm. What difference 
does it make to either of them? Well, if you still refuse, 

I will walk straight into Lillia Meredith’s opera-box and re- 
nounce her forever.’' 

That decided it. Isolina, with angry, downcast eves, 
and flaming cheeks, stepped into the procession and walked 
across the platform, her hand tightly linked to Cecil Beau- 
mont’s arm, and I followed closely, too much engrossed by 
them even to lift my eyes to look around. 

The instant we had taken our seats, the face of Beaumont 
underwent a wonderful change. 

I could not but suspect that he was trying to give the im- 
pression to all who chose to notice, that he was the favored 
cavalier of “ The Beautiful Rienzi.” I trembled for poor 
Lillia Meredith, and raised my eyes to the reserved seats to 
find her. I soon detected the blush-rose dress in a seat very 
near the platform, and met the large, wistful eyes of the 
young girl fixed upon me with a timid, dazed expression ; 
then she turned them upon her lover, as if hoping to catch 
a glance front him. 

At length, the business of the evening commenced, 
and I had no more time for observation. I have no inten- 
tion of presenting to the reader the details of this concert, 
which was conducted with perfect skill and taste. I shall 
merely touch here and there on those parts which imme- 
diately pertain to my history, and to myself. 

As the moment approached that I was to sing my first 
solo, Santa Cecelia! how my lips trembled ! My hands grew 
icy cold, my cheeks flamed, a suffocating weight of nervous 
diead was on my heart. 

At last my name was whispered by those around me, a 
lady behind me gave me a gentle push which sent me to my 
feet ; murmurs of “ Don’t be afraid,” reached my quaking 
ears, and Mr. Lindhurst’s calm eyes rested on me with a re- 
assuring smile which infused some courage into my half- 
dead frame. Without daring to look up, I took my place 
beside a gayly bedizzened harp, swept the strings with wan- 
dering fingers which created an impromptu prelude, rather 
out of the course as I saw by the professor’s astonished looks, 
and at length, with a desperate effort, plunged into my 
song, quite unconscious of anything but the defects whjch 
my nervousness caused. 

This unique performance was gallantly applauded by the 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


47 


great, kindly throng, and the gentlemen cried “ encore,” 
though I was now burning with remorse that I had not 
merited their kindness more, and thinking to myself how my 
gifted master in Venice, who had formed all my notes with 
artistic care, would have encored in a different mood ; but I 
/swept a grateful courtesy and retired to my place. 

) I had now leisure to look about, and I used my eye 3 . 

\ First they went a-trip to the dear father in the" box, who 
pvas clapping his hands louder than any of them, his eyes 
sparkling with pride ; and we telegraphed a smile to each 
other. Then I looked at Miss Meredith, and my smile 
faded. 

She was bent across the front of the seat, her ivory fan 
•pressed against her bosom until it bent, her soft face cold 
and hard, her eyes fastened, her lips satirically smiling. Un- 
utterably startled at such an expression, I directed my eyes 
also to the pair she watched so intently. 

My sister sat some distance from me on her velvet chair 
near a piano, upon which shortly she was to perform. Her 
face was drooping, her face which was surely too bitterly 
reproachful to be turned to the public and Cecil Beaumont 
was bending his head close to hers, unchecked ; a music- 
sheet held up as a shield from other eyes, while he whispered 
ceaselessly. It was all interpreted but too well by wronged 
Lillia Meredith, mad now with jealousy and indignation. 

The concert proceeded; there were more songs by lad ; es 
whose tones did not tremble as mine had .done. The 
orchestra played through an opera while we rested ourselves. 
Isolina and the professor performed their piano duet, which 
was wonderfully admired. The time came at last for Isolina 
and me to sing a duet then much in vogue, though now 
somewhat antiquated, “ Mira 0 Norma,” from “Don 
Giovanni.” 

I stood with my sister in the empty area and watched her, 
while with a low^ pathetic cadence, she fell into Bellini’s 
sweet air, which strangely enough seemed to fall into a deso- 
late chime with her life-opera. With what wistfulness she 
murmured the opening prayer; how her tones deepened in- 
to vehemence; how her vehemence intensified to passion 
as she sang: 

"Ah! he shall feel, who caused thy anguish, 

How deep hath been thy silent sorrowl” 


48 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


I was carried away bv her dramatic genius, and rendered 
my part with fearless enthusiasm, until my eyes fell on Cecil 
Beaumont, and then 1 knew not what 1 sang. 

There he stood, or rather crouched behind a flag, watch- 
ing mv beautiful sister with a reckless and almost diabolical 
smile on his lips. Where was now the touching febrile pa- 
thos of that full-eyed Southern face? This was the bold 
abandon of a tiend. 

I turned from this blasting vision to take up my part 
again. The orchestra hushed their notes to a gentle whis- 
per. my voice, trembling as it was with other feelings, rose 
distinct with Norma's passionate rejoinder: 

“When the heart is cold that should have cherished 

Every hope ot joy it falsely gave 

Wouldst thou nave me live? Ah! no, thou vvouldst not! 

My only naven, alas! is but the grave!” 

I waited for Isolina's answering: 

“ Hear me, Norma! hear me, I implore thee!” 

I waited, and the echoes were dying. 

What has smitten lsolina? 

The wild eyes are fixed as if in a trance — her lips are 
whitening — her hands clasped. Doubt, sudden horror de- 
pict themselves upon the blanching face; she shrinks back, 
and with a soft aEolian-like brush of her heavy robe across 
the harp strings, she sank at my feet. 

The effect was electric. 

There was a hush as of death, broken presently by the 
sound of hysterical weeping and cries of alarm. Confusion 
prevailed. 


CHAPTER VI. 

BAFFLED AFTER ALL. 

“O life as futile— then, as frail! 

O for thy voice to soothe and bless! 

What hope of answer or redress. 

Behind the vail! behind the vail!” — Tenntson. 

I stood there as still as my white-faced sister, powerless 
with dismay. I gazed with keen eyes into the heart of the 
throng where she had gazed, and nothing but faces of con* 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


49 


sternation met me; yet some face that slie had seen in ‘that 
throng had affected her thus. Many gentlemen left their 
places and approached the platform to offer assistance; over 
their heads I gazed at two figures hurrying in the opposite 
direction to the entrance door; gentlemen in loose cloaks; 
hut what of that? My heart quaked, and — at what? 

All this took but a moment; before any one could raise 
mv sister, Cecil Beaumont had crouched over her and lifted 
her in his slight, strong arms, with such a visible air of the 
right to do so, that every one stood back and allowed him a 
free passage to the stage door, while I remained without the 
power to move, gazing after him at Isolina’s paleface and 
closed eyes. 

Some words broke on my benumbed senses. Mr. Lind- 
hurst was leading me to a couch behind the piano. 

“ Compose yourself, my dear Miss I vanilla — do not look 
so terrified. Your sister will soon recover — she only 
fainted with excitement. I think vou are going to faint, 
too.” 

I roused myself from my stony stillness. 

“No, I am not going to faint; I would like to go to Iso- 
lina.” 

He bent his head to catch my words; the singers had 
adroitly covered the accident by a full-voiced chorus and 
my words were lost in a sea of song. 

I tore my hands from my friend and escaped by the door 
through which I had bust seen my sister disappear, I was 
in the cold outer corridor leading by private passages to the 
dressing-rooms and main entrance. Whither should I di- 
rect my steps? I darted into the room behind the stage, 
and came out as quickly, two or three bandsmen were there 
repairing their bugles or cornopaens. I found the cloaking- 
room but it was aiso empty of those I sought. I wrung my 
hands and begun to wish my sweet sister had been gifted 
with the features of a Mongolian. I saw a flight of stairs 
leading into an upper hall, and I rushed up these as a last 
resource only to find myself in a wide, dark hall, evidently 
a school-room. But there was a door at my right hand 
which was locked, and at this I took my stand, knocking 
vigorously. 

No one replied, so my heart went into my month with 
blood-curdling fears, as ft steftlthy step became audible* 


50 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


“ Monsters!” I cried, “I demand an entrance— I know 
you are here. Let me join my sister!” 

I began imperiously. I passed through a descending scale, 
until l was pleading sind weeping for an entrance. 

The door was suddenly opened and an old man with a 
tallow candle flashing in his hand, and a gray, stern face 
confronted me. 

“ Who are von, coming at this time of night, waking peo- 
ple out of their rest? What do you want?” 

“I want my sister! 0, misery! have I wasted the precious 
moments after all? Sir, I am looking for my sister, who 
was singing at the concert.” 

“ What do I know about her then? Why come to my 
door for her? I have a wife in there, young woman, and 
you have wakened her up. Go away — I have nothing to do 
with the people who come into this building — I have only 
to lock them out at night — if they would ever go!” 

“Sir, I beg your pardon ” 

“All right— find your way down stairs again.” 

The door was snapped shut in my face; wringing my 
hands, I turned away. 

I fell against Mr. Lindhurst in the lower corridor and he 
stopped my further search. 

“ Where have you been, Miss Ivanilla? Your father was 
very anxious to see you before he went home.” 

“Has my father gone home?” 

“Yes, with Miss Meredith; they were anxious to be with 
Miss Rienzi.” 

“And where is she?” I burst forth passionately; “I can- 
not find her in all the building.” 

“Mr. Beaumont conveyed your sister home,” said my 
friend, gently. “She was not able to sing again, so it 
was best for her to go home and rest.” 

“ Mr. Beaumont!” I repeated — I felt myself grow pale 
under Mr. Lindhurst’s anxious eyes. For her sake I com- 
manded myself and concealed my emotions. “ When did 
all this happen?” I demanded. 

“Not three minutes ago. Your father left word with 
one of the stage- managers for you, that they had all gone 
home; and he did me the honor to say that I should take 
charge of you until your duties released you. I have just 
received this message, and was seeking for you.” 

“ Oh, I must go now — I cannot stgy here!” I cried. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


51 


Just then the professor came in from the platform, his 
countenance wearing an anxious expression. When he saw 
me it brightened. 

“Oh! I am glad to see you here, Miss Rienzi. I was 
afraid you had both vanished, and my programme would 
sustain a severe abridgement. Come — everybody is looking 
down their list impatiently for ‘La ci darem.’” 

I saw that it would be selfish of me to go, so I consented 
to return to my place; but it was with a weary sigh that I 
encountered again the blazing lights and brilliant toilets. 

Our duet of “ La ci darem la mans,” in which Mr. Lind- 
hurstwas Don Giovanni and I Zerlina, was a marvelous suc- 
cess; we were encored again and again, until I felt my silly 
head ring with triumph, and a spirited thrill ran to the ends 
of my fingers. 

I stood with unfaltering mien once more alone with my 
harp, and swept the chords with a delicate touch as I sang 
“ The Blind Girl’s Song to Her Harp,” which moved the 
ladies, in their jewels and satins, to weep, while the gentle- 
men dropped their opera-glasses and sat immovable. 

And then, in my last, where as Dinorah I warbled forth 
“ 0, Tender Shadow!’’ lost in the enjoyment of the moment, 
charmed with so good-natured an audience, exhilarated by « 
their looks of delight, I almost forgot the cares which had 
weighed down my spirits so long. 

It was almost twelve o’clock before the warder of the 
Cybelle Hall locked the doors on the last of us. I was very 
weary, and lay back among the furs in Mr. Lindhurst’s 
sleigh, looking at the radiant moonlight which bathed each 
silent roof with his blue-white tintings. 

“ Overworked, Queen of Song?” laughed my escort, bend- 
ing down to look in my face. 

“ No: I am thinking of my success — I am proud of it.” 

He smiled as he regarded me. 

“ Am I vain to say so?” I asked. “I do not think my 
vanitv has been fed. My master spent years in my tuition, 
and I at mv best cannot do him credit. And then, to 
think that those who listened to us to-night — connoisseurs 
they certainly were — should be pleased with me! Yes, I 
am proud!” 

“‘So am I,” softly spoke my friend. 

Then he sighed as he spoke again: 

“So our little rehearsals are over,” he said, pensively. “ I 


52 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


shall have no longer the delight of being taught how to 
breath Italian by my little Zerlina! Don Giovanni’s wooing 
is over.” 

It was my delight to set those deep blue eyes sparkling, 
and to call the grave, peculiarly sweet smile to the thought- 
ful lips by my daring words or glances. When I had stirred 
his feelings until I thrilled in the presence of such fascina- 
tion as I was unable to withstand, I would lightly change 
my mood to hide my throbbing heart. 

“ What does that glance mean?” exclaimed Mr. Lind- 
hurst, meeting my alluring smile with flushing eagerness. 
“Does my little queen retain her subject for some more 
lessons?” 

My queenly reply was a laughing nod. 

“ Kay,” jested he, “that answer is more than royal — it 
is god-like. Alexander affected the celestial nod of the 
gods!” 

“ I cannot conquer the world,” I replied, gaylv, “but I 

should much rather conquer ” My eyes finished the 

sentence; I allowed him to press my fingers; I defiantly 
lured him on. While thus I toyed with my awaking heart, 
a deep sound awoke the sleeping silence of the vast city; a 
slow clanging — one — two — three — up to twelve. It was mid- 
night, as a solemn old bell in a church near was informing 
us. As the last stroke died away, my smiling lips locked — 
they chilled into colorless marble, and my heart sank with 
a throe of deathly terror. 

“ Heavens!” I gasped, “something dreadful has hap- 
pened !” 

“ What — what?” exclaimed my friend, growing pale as he 
beheld my mysterious agitation. 

lie anxiously supported me and chafed my icy hands, but 
I was not faint. 

“ Do you feel better now?” asked my friend. 

The unaccountable terror was passing off, leaving, how- 
ever, a strange impression on my mind that I did wrong to 
stay at the hall; I was wild with anxiety to be at home. 

“ What has caused this hysteric paroxysm?” whispered my 
friend, again chafing my hands. 

Yes! that is what any practical person would call such a 
mysterious visitation. “ A hysteric paroxysm,” and they 
would account for it by preceding fatigue, excitement, and 
anxiety. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


53 


“ I am not hysterical,” I said, very quietly; “but I am 
anxious about Isolina. Perhaps she is worse.” 

Mr. Lind hurst gave the driver a word, and in an instant 
we were dashing through the remaining streets which sepa- 
rated me from my home. Five minutes had not elapsed 
before I was bidding my escort good-night at my father’s 
door. I thought the servant who admitted me looked very 
much bewildered; he held the door open after I had en- 
tered until I turned round and asked him the reason. “Oh, 
nothing, miss,” he replied, solacing himself with a last 
glance down to the gate before he closed himself in. I pro- 
ceeded steadily to my sister’s dressing-room. It was empty. 
Well, it was late and she had been ill, of course she was in 
bed. 

Sophie came out of my room, and looked at me with a 
surprised face, but said nothing while she removed my 
wrappings. 

“ Well, are you not going to speak?” I demanded, irrita- 
bly. “ Is Miss Rienzi well or ill; is she in bed?” 

She dropped my muff and kept gazing at me. I made an 
impatient gesture, my fears growing clamorous. 

“ La, miss! isn’t Miss Isolina with you?” 

I hastily looked behind, and at each side. No, truly. Miss 
Isolina was not with me! My face whitened. 

“ What are you saying, Sophie? My sister came home an 
hour ago with my father, did she not?” 

“ Lawk alive, miss!” was all the response. 

“Fool!” I raved; “have you nothing but gaping wonder 
for me? Where is she? Are you sure she is not down stairs 
with papa, or in Miss Meredith’s room with her?” 

“Indeed, Miss Iva, she’s not in the house. White, he’s 
waiting at the door to let her in; her and you, miss, to- 
gether.” 

“And my father — good Heaven! has my father lost 
sight of her, too? Sophie, you will cease to gaze at me so! 
Am I an apparition? Who told you she was coming home 
with me?” 

“The master, Miss Ivanilla. He said Miss Isolina had 
been sick and gone out to come home, but the air revived 
her, and she went back to the concert.” 

“Who told him that? It was false!” I cried, becoming 
distracted with consternation. 


54 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


I ran to Miss Meredith's room without ceremony, and 
found that she had not retired. 

“ What can have happened to Isolina?” I burst forth. “I 
thought she was home two hours ago, and when I arrive, I 
find her absent still! Where can she be?” 

“ Where can she be?” repeated the girl, with a ringing 
laugh. “ Don’t you know? Can’t you guess?” 

“ For the love of Heaven!” I said, gravely, “tell me if 
you have any idea where she is. W here did you see her 
last?” 

“It is rather hard to ask me that question,” she returned, 
with another taunting laugh; “ but I will tell you. In the 
arms of my betrothed!” 

“ Explain,” I said, swallowing my feelings. 

“ How am I to explain. Such treachery is beyond my 
power to explain. You, as well as I, saw him carry her 
away in his arms.” 

“And have you not seen her since?” 

“Not I. my dear Miss Ivanilla; nor will you for a while, I 
fancy. Do not sit up to-night, I beg. They have given us 
all the slip — eloped !” 

“Impossible!” I exclaimed, indignantly. “My sister 
did not love him. She would never elope with Cecil Beau- 
mont.” 

“So she informed you and me, my dear,” said Miss 
Meredith, bitterly; “but you see we have been duped. The 
deception worked very well, and she has got him safe!” 

“Miss Meredith, I command you to cease these asper- 
sions on my sister’s integrity,” I exclaimed. “ You do not 
know a tithe of what she has suffered for you — ingrate. 
But I forbear to quarrel. You will not relieve my anxiety, 
so I will relieve you of my presence.” 

She came after me and clutched me passionately; her 
smothered rage broke out. 

“ Why did you not tell me how completely she had in- 
snared him?” hissed the girl, shaking me. “ Whether you 
sav it is her fault or not — she stole him from me! Now , I 
tell you, her sister, as my message for her when she comes 
back, that I will never forgive her for the wrong and the 
humiliation she has made me bear. Let her beware. 
With all her beauty and her talent, the time may come 
when her beauty will be only a memory, and her talents 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


55 


turned to her own destruction. Then, perhaps, she’ll be 
sorry for the trick she played me!” 

She ceased with set teeth, and pushed me from the door; 
a furious, i.mplacable foe, no more a gentle girl. 

I went away without a word. I was stunned; blow after 
blow was descending on me; my heart was faint and sick. I 
went through the silent house as I should have done at 
first, to my father. 

He was pacing up and down, a frown on his face such as 
Iliad never seen there before. 

“Have you come home alone, then?” he asked, turning 
on me. “ White says your sister was not with you.” 

I flung myself into his arms. The last straw broke the 
camel’s back. The terror and grief which had so long 
been accumulating burst forth at last in a torrent of 
tears. 

My father soothed and caressed me; his brief paternal 
sternness vanished before my distress; he implored me to 
explain what was grieving me. 

“ Tell me how it came that you lost sight of Isolina.’’ 

I sobbed after a while: 

“ I have not seen her since she was carried out of the hall 
insensible.” 

“ What? Has she disappeared?” 

“Father, did you trust her with that madman, Beau- 
mont?” 

“I can tell you nothing about her, my child, except that 
I hastened out of the hall as soon as she gave way; 1 would 
have got round to the dressing-room sooner, where I 
imagined young Beaumont had taken her. but Miss 
Meredith, who had been acting like a possessed creature 
before that, and had hissed in a most derisive and unseemly 
manner when the accident happened, delayed me by going 
into something that looked very like a convulsion fit. By 
the time I got her dragged out with me and wrapped up, a 
manager came to me and said that Beaumont had just 
driven off with your sister — if I hastened. I could overtake 
them, and put her in my sleigh, as Beaumont’s was un-. 
covered. I hurried Miss Meredith in and dashed off, but 
did not overtake them. When I came to our gate out there, 
a boy, who was waiting on the sidewalk, said he had been told 
to stand there and inform me that Miss Bienzi, feeling 
quite revived, had decided to go back to the hall and fulfill 


56 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


her part. I asked him who spoke to him; he said a gentle- 
man who was driving a lady in an open sleigh, and he had 
given him a quarter for the job. And that is all I can say 
on the matter, which is certainly a very extraordinary one 
for such a girl as Isolina to be embroiled in. Surely— surely 
she has not done anything clandestine ?” 

Here I told my father the exact case as it stood between 
Isolina and Beaumont, and related how earnestly she had 
tried to keep him true to her friend. The crisis had not 
come which was to force the whole of my strange story from 
me; I was resolved to keep my sister’s secret history locked 
in mv own bosom until she released my tongue. 

“ And do you leave me to infer that he has forcibly taken 
her away?” ejaculated my father, starting up; “ By 
Heaven! this is an outrage that I will take good care to 
sift! Where’s the young man’s address? Yon don’t know? 
There! there! don’t crv, little one — go to bed and sleep — 
you are as white as a ghost. I’ll see to this business — never 
you fear!’’ 

He went with me up the long, desolate stairs, kissed me 
tenderly in my own little bedroom, and went away. I 
watching him from the window in the shining moonlight 
saw him with a servant by his side walk rapidly down the 
street. 

Ah! that was anight! I watched by the window until my 
heavy eyes grew burning and blind. I flitted to and fro in 
my echoing room until my watch ticked me into a frenzy. 
I crept to Lillia’s door, and, grown humble by misery, im- 
plored her to allow me to be with her, but the girl’s mood 
was harder than mine, and she stoutly refused. 

Weeping, I returned to my room, flung myself on my 
bed, and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep. 


j 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


57 


CHAPTER VII. 

THERE IS NO GRIEF LIKE THE GRIEF THAT DOES NOT 
SPEAK. 

“ He is dead and gone, lady, 

He is dead and gone; 

At his head a grass green turf, 

At his heels a stone.” — H amlet. 

“Break, thou deep vase of chilling tears, 

That grief hath shaken into frost.” — Tennyson. 

A presence was with me in my fathomless slumber; it 
brought me up from the circles of oblivion, until a sense of 
returning existence began to enter my dormant brain. 
Slowly though, for my weary head seemed clasped by bands 
of iron; but at last the Presence bending over me became a 
reality; I opened my eyes with a confused terror. 

Was that my fathers face? It was gray and distorted to 
my unsteady vision — surely ten years had passed since I fell 
asleep. 

“ Father!” I cried, springing up all at once; “what have 
you come to tell me?” 

“Poor little girl/' whispered he, compassionately, “I 
scarcely liked to waken you, you were sleeping so soundly. 
Oh, my daughter!” 

He took me in his arms, and suddenly a great deep sob 
rent his frame. I said nothing, but I clung to him and 
waited. 

“ Something dreadful has happened,” he gasped, after a 
while; “Cecil Beaumont was found — was found dead last 
night at twelve o’clock beneath a bridge, ten miles on the 
—road!” 

“Dead, father!” 

“And they say ” Here he broke down and wept such 

tears as would kill a woman — tears that came with throes of 
agony and strong wrenches of the laboring chest while he 
rocked with me to and fro; ‘ they say there has been foul 
play — that Isolina — my girl that could not harm a living 
thing — oh, my God! I cannot believe it!” 


58 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


He was weeping — I could not. 

“ Where is she?” I asked, mechanically. 

“She can't be found,” this in a husky whisper; “the man 
who found the body says she must have escaped. I need 
not look for her, Iva!” he said, in a curiously helpless 
voice, “the officers of justice are after her — if she is alive, 
they will find her.” 

“ Who told you this, father?” 

“ They were talking about it at the Exchange,” he groaned. 
“I was here and there and everywhere, all night long, try- 
ing to trace them; young Lindhurst was with me until five 
o’clock. It was lie who came to me an hour ago and 
said the merchants had a queer story among them on 
’Change; some parties coming in from Greely’s Mills where 
the accident occurred, brought the news. The young man’s 
mother has applied to have her arrested; a band of detec- 
tives went out this morning to see Mrs. Beaumont and hear 
the particulars. Strange, isn’t it, that the body was found 
not half a mile from Mrs Beaumont’s house? What could 
your sister want there.” 

“Father, what are you going to do?” I whispered, help- 
lessly. 

“ I will try to find my poor girl; I shall not leave her to 
be hunted down by the law. Oh, my child! my pride! I 
was happy when my eyes fell on her — never father loved 
child as 1 loved that girl. Oh, my darling, come back to 
your poor old father — don’t be afraid of him!” 

“Father,” I said, reverently kissing his hand, “comfort 
yourself with the thought of her innocence. This misfor- 
tune is very heavy, but Heaven will bring it all right again, 
since poor Holina was quite guiltless of any wrong, from be- 
ginning to end. Comfort yourself, dear father.” 

While I was speaking. I had been debating with my- 
self whether I was justified in keeping silence longer on 
the subject of my sister’s mysterious movements ever since 
the advent of Cecil Beaumont, and I reasoned that as long 
as there was a chance of this breach of confidence throwing 
a light upon the subsequent events, which might restore 
her to us, it was my duty to communicate what I knew to 
my father. 

Inwardly praying, therefore, that the “ happiness of this 
family” would not be destroyed by what I was about to re- 
late — as she had declared it would — but would rather be re- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI 


59 


stored* I poured into my father’s ears the strange events 
which for some time had caused me so much anxiety. 

He listened with fixed attention, and unutterable surprise, 
then rose in agitation and pain. 

“ I cannot understand one move in this extraordinary 
game,” he cried, “ but this I am convinced of — your sister 
has become the victim of some infernal conspiracy 1” 

I scarcely took in bis words; he went away more ghastly 
pale than before, and trod heavily down stairs to his room, 
and left me alone again. 

My watch had run down, so I could not tell the time; but 
I knew the day must be far advanced, and I changed my 
dress, and flitted to Miss Meredith’s clmmber-door with a 
passing wonder why I had not been visited by any of the 
servants yet. At my first tap the door was opened, and I 
beheld Miss Meredith in traveling costume, her hat on the 
dressing-table, and a tray, containing the remains of her 
breakfast, on a stand before the cheerfully blazing fire. 

“ Come in, Miss Rienzi,” she said, politely; “ I am glad 
to find you well enough to rise. I have been awaiting you 
some time.” 

She placed a chair for me, upon which I thankfully sat 
down, for a sort of vertigo had seized me while crossing the 
corridor, and I was quite dizzy. 

“ You see,” she continued, sitting down and taking her 
coffee-cup in her hand; “ I am on the eve of returning 
home. My visit to New York has been shorter than I an- 
ticipated, but I shall remember it with the deepest con- 
stancy. I am glad to have this opportunity of thanking 
you, Miss Ivanilla Rienzi, for your kindness, and bidding 
you farewell.” 

‘•'Yon have not heard,” I returned, in a husky, uncer- 
tain voice, “of the terrible calamity that has happened. 
When you know the extent of our trouble, you will feel for 
this stricken family, and accept my sympathy in your 
grief!” 

“I have heard everything,” said the young lady, laying 
down her empty cup. “ Your housemaid told me what 
half the city knows by this time — that Cecil Beaumont’s 
dead body had been found dashed to pieces at the bottom 
of a stream! I am sorry for you, Miss Rienzi — I am sorry 
that your sister turns out to be a murderess ! It is even 
worse than if she had lured him from me for love ” 


60 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


Here she grew white with passion, and wavered an instant; 
“ but she only lured him on to destruction. I have no wish 
to keep you in ignorance of my intentions, Miss Rienzi; so 
I will frankly tell you that I intend to have your sister ar- 
rested for this murder. She shall be found and brought 
to justice, if my last dollar pays for it!” 

“You are too late in putting your intentions into execu- 
tion,” I responded. “ Mrs. Beaumont, his mother, has 
been before you. There is a warrant against her already.” 

“ And is the very solace of revenge to be denied me?” 
cried the girl, almost furiously. Her hard cruelty had no 
effect on my frozen stupor; I even studied her in her vindic- 
tive mood, and wondered that my first impressions of her 
had been so false. 

“1 have nothing against you, Miss Rienzi,” she said, 
glancing at me, as she rose to look out of the window; 
“ but you must acknowledge that I have been basely treated 
by your sister; and I have a perfect right to join in the 
effort to avenge my dead lover. There — I see the cab is 
waiting to take me to the station. Good-by, Miss Rienzi; 
I am truly sorry for you — I don't think you could help it.” 

She reached out her cold hand to me, and I looked at 
her unfeeling countenance wistfully. I felt that it was not 
right to let her go thus; yet I had no strength to meet the 
emergency, or to oppose anything. 

“ You will not go away, my friend?” I appealed. “ See 
how desolate I am. Stay and comfort me. She may be 
dead, too, dear one; and if she is, you would never forgive 
yourself for your hard feelings.” 

But she tore her hand away from me, and went down 
stairs where her boxes appeared to have preceded her, and 
in five minutes I Heard the entrance door shut. 

I crept spiritlessly to the dressing-room and sat down be- 
fore the blazing fire. Sophie was there with a bit of sewing 
in her hands, and she ran for a footstool, and put my feet 
on it. 

“ Oh, my dear miss,” cried the usually timid girl. “You 
should not have got up — no, indeed! You look dreadful.” 

“ What is the time, Sophie?” 

“About twelve, Miss Iva. I’ll run fora bit of breakfast. 
You sh .’n’t go down to that great table all alone. Your 
pa’s not home, and I'll bring it up nice and hot here.” 

“ Yes,” I assented; “ I suppose I must eat,” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


61 


"Without preface or warning the girl flung herself oil her 
knees beside me, and buried her face in her apron. 

“ I don't believe it,” she sobbed violently. “ I don't be- 
lieve a word against dear, sweet Miss Isolina. Oh, Miss 
Iva, darling, don’t look so terribly quiet — hasn’t you cried 
any?” 

“ No,” I sighed, “ tears are denied to me; my heart is 
too stupefied yet. But I, too, know that my sister has done 
no wrong, and I thank you for your trust, mv girl.” 

Sophie went out of the room with loud sobs, and I sat 
quietly looking into the fire and waiting for her return with 
my breakfast. But when it came, although I assured my- 
self it was my duty to eat, I could not. My thirst was 
burning, and my throat seemed to crack whenever I at- 
tempted to speak, yet I could not force down Sophie’s cup 
of tea, though fragrant as art could render it. I could not 
endure the girl’s anxious eyes, so I left the tray and went 
down into the still drawing-room. 

I restlessly wandered around the luxurious apartment; I 
read poetry and hummed an air which Isolina had often 
sung to me in the twilight hours. As the day wore to its 
close I grew wild with terror at my calmness and strove by 
every art to melt the fount of sorrow. Presently the door 
opened and Sophie came in through the gloom. 

“Miss Iva, where are you ?” she whispered ; the master 
has come home and wants you downstairs to eat something. 
He's here waiting, miss.” 

I went out to the lighted hall and slipped my hot hand 
into his. 

“ Papa.” I said, gently; “you have left me a longtime 
alone. Did you hear of her?” 

He did not answer but to draw my hand within his arm 
with a spasmodic grip ; then he made me go down to the 
dining-room where dinner was laid as usual, only that my 
sister’s chair was set to the wall, and her place empty. My 
father did not place me at the tabic ; he put my chilled 
form into a great easy- chair beside the fire, and brought a 
glass of wine to me. which I drank obediently ; then he 
made me eat, which I did with difficulty, for the ball in my 
throat almost choked me; but I was eager to give no 
trouble, so I managed it. After eating a brief meal him- 
self, which I pityingly remarked was almost as small as 
mine, he left the tabie and took me up stairs again. The 


62 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZ1. 


drawing-room was now brightly lit, the hearth swept, and a 
blazing fire on. 

He sat by this merry, crackling fire, and put my poor, 
beating head upon his breast, and kissed me kindly. 

“ You have had a sad day of it, I fear, poor little girl/’ 
he said, “ and indeed I am a little afraid for you — your head 
is like a furnace.” 

“Iam very well, father — too well. Please tell me all 
you have been doing. You know while you have been 
working I have been waiting.” 

“I have very little to reward your waiting with,” he 
sighed ; “my work has been to little purpose. Your sister 
is still undiscovered, and all clews seem lost. I have been 
to Greely’s Mills, and saw the — the body at Mrs. Beaumont’s 
house ; there was an inquest on it and a verdict was re- 
turned of ‘ Death by violent means.'’ I have been able to 
make nothing of that strange story you told me of your 
sister visiting some person at night, and writing to unknown 
people. If Heaven ever restores her to us, we may hear an 
explanation from her own mouth : but my belief is that she 
is embroiled in some wretched plot.” 

“ And what more ?” I cried, feverishly ; “ did you do 
nothing more? Is that all you have to tell?” 

“ I did nothing more, my poor darling, except to write to 
your mother. Keep up courage until she comes; you’ll not 
be so lonely when there are two of you.” 

I raised my head and looked at him, and trembled from 
head to foot. I felt it coming, the long delayed storm of 
grief. I thought of my mother’s anguish when that mes- 
sage should reach her; it seemed as if the fiat had gone 
forth with that message ; that our grief was to be real; my 
eyes fell upon the pile of books and music, and pretty orna- 
ments which her hands had worked, and which were to be 
put away now. 

It came to me in a blinding flash, that my darling would 
come no more to me ; that she was lost and dead to me, and 
dead to my family forever. 

A wild shriek broke from me. I clasped my hands on 
my heart, and the pent-up tears poured forth in a torrent, 
my frame was racked and shaken with the tempest, grief 
and horror filled my heart, and seemed to find no bounds. 
At last my sorrow had begun. 


BEAUTIFUL R1ENZI. 


63 


CHAPTER VIII. 

“I LOCK THE CASKET WHICH HELD THE GEM.” 

“ Courage, poor heart of stone ! 

I will not ask thee why 

Thou canst not understand 

That thou art left forever alone.” — Tennyson. 

The next day I, by my father’s directions, searched her 
chamber for any possible clew of her late movements. 

Carefully, though with ceaseless tears, I examined every 
paper which came in my way, and found nothing which 
could have the slightest bearing on the mysterious question. 
A few penciled sketches of woodland scenery were wrapped 
in silver paper, and hidden deep down in a drawer; a 
withered rose, once white, now sere and crumbling into 
faintly incensed dust, was clasped within a gold-enameled 
casket, in the same drawer, "but what of these? 

Her little rosewood desk was locked, with the key lying 
on top, and with a feeling of shrinking reluctance, I opened 
it. There were many letters, which I glanced at and re- 
placed. Most of them had been written by my own hand 
before I joined my unknown sister; a good many were the 
peculiarly artless and innocent effusions of Miss Meredith ; 
there were several from Miss Belle Cranstown relating to 
benevolent projects in which she and my sister had been 
interested; finally there were several proposals of marriage 
from different gentlemen, some of whom I had already 
heard of, others with whose names I was unacquainted. 

I wrote their names down on a slip of paper and resolved 
to ask my father about them. 

Just as I was closing the desk I noticed a small gold 
knob, about the size of a pin’s head, in one of the compart- 
ments. I applied myself to its examination, and presently 
succeeded in opening a secret drawer in which I found the 
missing double-ring. I held it in the palm of m'y hand, mov- 
ing and twisting it until the slender hoop which lined it be- 
came detached. It was only a gold ring without chasing or 
ornament, but this very circumstance raised a curious train 
of speculations in my mind, which engrossed me for several 


64 


BEAUTIFUL E1ENZI. 


minutes until I suddenly observed in the inside of the 
circlet the graven initials, “I. J., July 16th, 1862. " Had 
I found some accurate foothold at last? Who and what was 
“I. J.,” and where had my sister been on the sixteenth of 
July, last summer? Were these the initials of the giver of 
the double ring? 

Long I stood revolving these slight proofs of some con- 
cealed events in my mind; vague speculation w r as the only 
result. I replaced the double-ring in its secret drawer and 
locked the desk. 

All these dumb reminders of her overthrew my enforced 
calmness; I flung myself on the floor and wept until my 
very being seemed wept away. 

Then I rose, drew down the blinds, closed the curtains, 
locked the door, and came away. 

Henceforth no foot should cross the threshold, no eyes 
make common property of this deserted chamber, until the 
day that the shadow passed away from us, and my lost sister 
came home. 

I related with minute care all that I had found to my 
father, and he listened attentively. 

“ The case amounts to this," he said, when I had fin- 
ished : 

“ Isolina received a ring on the sixteenth of last July 
from some person whose initials are ‘I. J.’ — which she has 
worn since on her hand, until, as you believe, the night on 
which she went out in the rain-storm secretly. We can 
make very little of this, Iva, except that probably she 
formed some attachment last summer with a person whom 
she has not mentioned, and at the time she removed the ring, 
that attachment must have ended. I cannot see that either 
that circumstance or her strange absence from the house that 
stormy night are connected in any way with her present 
disappearance. None of the names which j r ou have written 
down as applicants for her hand commence with the initials 
‘1. JJ — and I knew of them all. I do not think we can 
unravel the mystery — perhaps, my dear, we ought not to 
try until your poor sister is restored to us. I have perfect 
faith, and I know you have the same, in my kind, good 
Isolina’s motives." 

y But, father, her mysterious grief — what if she had ene- 
mies, who were wiling her away to destroy her?” 

“ I did think at first of secret conspiracies; but that is 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


65 


hardly likely. We are in America, not in lawless Italy,” 
replied my father, with a faint smile. 

“ I 1 his war — what if some parties, for political purposes, 
tore her from the bosom of her family, in order ” 

“ Isolina occupied too quiet a position, my dear. Who 
would ever dream of forcing away a private gentleman’s 
daughter as a spy or anything else? Your surmises are 
wild, my child.” 

This was but the beginning of many such conversations. 
How often we sat together detailing the simple history of 
the lost girl, and trying vainly to dip beneath the trans- 
parent scanning of the past for deeper meaning! 

Time slowly stretched between us and that tragic night. 

The dreadful death of young Beaumont gradually ceased 
out of men’s mouths; the interest connected with it passed 
away, and the unhappy fugitive was forgotten. Even 
the bereaved lady, Mrs. Beaumont, had ceased her efforts 
to apprehend her, and had left the country. 

Sad news came from Venice, which deepened the gloom of 
our lonely hearts. My mother had been so dangerously ill 
that the physicians had forbidden the disastrous letter to be 
showed her, until she was strong enough to bear it. She 
was now convalescent, but could not at present be bur- 
dened with any anxiety. The time of her return was post- 
poned for an indefinite period. 

There was one more sorrow which cast its shadow over 
us. Miss Meredith, as soon as Mrs. Beaumont had with- 
drawn her detectives from the search for the presumed mur- 
deress, had employed another staff, whose zeal and energy 
were quickened by many a secret gift and bribes to a large 
amount. 

The cruelty, the heartlessness, and the injustice of this 
course was very hard to bear, but we bore it silently. 

I had one friend whom Heaven sent me in my deep 
affliction, who came with generous sympathy, while others 
gazed from afar upon our sorrow; who identified himself 
with us when such connection shed no luster on his name ; 
who was kind-hearted and true in our darkest days of 
humiliation,- and this faithful friend was Ernest Lindhurst. 

Ah! noble spirit that kept my sick heart from death, I 
kiss thy hands in love and gratitude! 

And so the bat-like wings of time heavily flapped over me. 


66 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


and bore us in the murky shadows onward, and months 
crept away into the past. 

I leave these dim shades of Cimmerian darkness where 
the breath of the dead chills me — I come to the second act 
of the “Secret Vendetta,” which was sped by unseen hands. 

CHAPTER IX. 

“ I COMFOKT OTHERS, AND GOD COMFORTS ME.” 

“ My life has crept so long on a broken wing 
Thro’ cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, 

That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing !’’ 

Tennyson. 

Four months passed away; my first remembered experi- 
ence of frost and snow; also, my probation of great sorrow. 

On the fifth of April, I, by the providence of Heaven, 
went to visit a district in Jersey City, which had been left 
in my charge by Miss Belle Cranstown, then absent for 
some weeks in the country. I may here explain that a so- 
ciety of young ladies had been formed for the purpose of 
visiting the families of the soldiers who had been disabled 
in the war, and supplying their wants as far as means would 
permit. 

Miss Cranstown having been called away by the sickness 
of an aunt or cousin — I cannot remember which — I sup- 
plied her place, and as my own district required my pres- 
ence only two days in the week, I went over on Wednesday 
by the Jersey City ferry, and found my way up Montgom- 
ery street to an obscure lane, where, close beside a large red 
brick building, with grated windows — as my memorandum, 
book informed me — I found the address of my first patient. 

It was a tall, wooden tenement-house, with brawling fami- 
lies on every floor, and gradually deepening poverty tine 
higher one climbed heavenward; but I was not afraid to 
pass the groups of rough-looking men, who were grimly en- 
joying the consternation of their employer at their strike for 
higher wages, and the gnawing of their own stomachs, as 
they leaned against the greasy walls, with their hairy aums 
bare and their feet unshod. 

They learned to look for the “Soldiers’ Friends” with tat- 
tered hats raised, and rough hands outstretched to clear the 
filthy way for the unaccustomed foot. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


67 


I ascended four flights of narrow wooden stairs and 
knocked at a door on the right hand. A young woman of 
very girlish aspect opened the door, whose sad face broke 
into a smile of joy when her eyes lit upon my badge. 

“ Come in— come in, miss/’ she said, eagerly; “I’m sure 
I’m so glad to see you. He’ll be at rest now.” 

She placed a chair for me, and bent over a high bed in a 
corner, where a young man lay with his eyes closed. 

“ Charlie! Charlie!” 

“I’m not, sleeping. Luce, my girl,” said a quiet voice. 

“ Cheer up, then; here’s a Soldiers’ Friend come to see 


The man raised himself slowly and looked at me. He had 
a thin, cadaverous face, which would have been delicately 
bleached if he were a gentleman, but was brown with win- 
ter’s winds and exposure, for he was only a dying soldier. 
What strength he had— and it was very little now— seemed 
to flood into his eyes at sight of me; they were hollow and 
dim with sickness, but the added hope and joy made the 
face a brave and pleasant one, despite the coming conqueror. 

“How kind of you! I was afraid 1 would have to go 
without seeing any of you; did No. 10 send you to me, nnss, 
just in the nick of time as I was praying for ye?” 

“ No 10 has had to go away to the country, but she sent 
one in her place; and as of course she knew you wouldn’t 
care as much for a stranger as for her whom von learned to 
trust, she gave me a recommendation, which I will give you 
just as it came from her mouth. ‘Tell Charlie Harrison 
that I send you in preference to twenty-seven ladies whom 
X might ask, because you know how to feel compassion. 
There! will that do for a character?” 

“ Plenty— plenty for me,” he responded, softly. His eyes 
looked wistfully at me as if to draw me nearer; he lifted Ins 
head to look at the other empty chair beside him, and I now 
saw that the poor fellow was utterly helpless, having lost 
both his arms. It was a log, with a soul in it. 

I obeyed his unspoken wish, and seated myself close by his 
pillow, while tears of sympathy obscured for a moment his 


fa< “*Now, ain’t it kind in Heaven to send such deliverers to 
a poor chap like me, whose days of working are gone for- 
ever,” he looked at himself apologetically, “ and who can 
only live and eat, and spend money? I often think now 


68 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


that it would have been as well for that poor little girl there 
if I had died in the Washington Hospital, instead of making 
believe to mend, and coming here to fall into a decline and 
swallow all her poor little earnings, and take tlie roof off her 
head.” 

“ Oh, Charlie!” cried the poor young creature, springing 
to his pillow and burying her face iii his neck, with a fond, 
gasping sob; “oh, don’t talk so— don’t leave me, my own 
poor boy!” 

“ Hush! hush, wife dear! we’ve been very happy in this 
bit of a home, even though it was you that worked, and me 
that was the lazy grub in the leaf. I’ll be happier when I’m 
commissioned to join the Blessed Army, Lucy love, that I 
spent my last furlough here with you. Hush, now, see, the 
lady. Heaven bless her, is distressed; and we are wasting her 
time. Run, now, my girl, while I speak to her.” 

When I could get back my composure, which in truth 
was somewhat shaken, I put the money which I had brought 
in the savings-bank I found on the mantel-piece, and drew 
off my gloves, as I asked if he would like any letters written. 

I was not mistaken; the wife went back to the one window 
and to her slipper-binding; the sick man beckoned me to 
bend closer, that he might whisper to me. 

“It’s about her, Lucy, that I’m so anxious,” he said; 
“ who’ll take care of her when I’m done for, Heaven knows! 
She’s been used to comforts and kindness all her life, and 
how she’ll manage to battle all alone 1 can’t a-bear to think 
on’t. She has a brother — or had — but though I’ve never 
said so to her, I’m afraid poor Len Rosecraft’s knocked un- 
der. We’ve not heard from him since last year — he 
was a soldior of the Potomac, miss — when he wrote a 
letter which Luce got about the middle of November that 
he was slightly wounded, not lapped like me — only lamed 
with a gunshot, and as he wasn’t no use till he was better he 
had got leave of absence and was coming to the New York 
Hospital to be nursed near us; and he had a good bit of 
money, he said, as he was going to share with Lucy, (she’s his 
only sister, you know, and mighty kind he was to her); well, 
miss, he wrote that he’d be here by the last of the month, 
and, miss, by Heaven! we’ve never seen him yet! She thinks 
that maybe he changed his mind, and staid" to be on hand 
when he got well, but I don’t believe it. Len was a man of 
his word, and why wouldn’t he write again if so? Now, 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


69 


miss, I want to tell you my ideas of this here business; bend 
down, miss, please — do you remember an awful railway ac- 
cident that smashed the cars on the 29th of November?” 

I shook my head, while a cold chill ran through me at 
mention of that fateful day to me and mine. 

“ Well there was, miss, not far from the city; and I can't 
help hoping poor Leander wasn’t on that train, a-coming 
home wounded and helpless to his sister, to be killed at the 
last. I haven’t said nothing about that to Lucy, of course; 
I wouldn’t; she’s got enough to drag her down, poor girl; 
but it worrits me. 1 want you to get Len Kosecraft hunted 
up when I’m taken off; for that girl’s not in a state to be 
left without kith or kin in the world, and him and me 
was all she had. I’ll tell you all I can about him, to guide 
you.” 

Here he entered into the description of the man’s age, 
appearance, trade before he enlisted, and other details, all 
of which I carefully wrote down in my writing-case, to 
be laid before the society. Then he designated a small box 
on the mantel-piece, which I placed before him. 

“Look over the things in it,” he said, “and you’ll find 
the letter; it’s addressed to Mrs. C. Harrison, and his pho- 
tograph is in the bottom of the box; a tall chap — yes, that’s 
him, just as he looked, eleven months ago, standing up as 
Lucy’s groomsman. Now, dear miss, if you’ll take them two 
things away with you, and try to find Len, I’ll die easier ; 
it’s hard to have that poor little girl of mine all alone in 
the world, just when she should be looked after — oh, poor 
Luce!” 

He turned his head away, and subdued the large tears be- 
fore he proceeded further. 

“ She never had much hard work to do; she lived with 
her brother on his snug little farm a little out of Newark, 
and when I married her, it just turned out that I stole her 
away from comfort to sit down to starvation, for I was 
drafted off to the war, and three months after Leu was 
drafted too, and the little farm was rented out, for Luce 
wouldn’t go back to it alone. But as I was telling you, he 
was mighty fond of Luce, so he sold the bit of land, and 
it was half of the money he was bringing home to her, which 
would have been something for my poor mite, when sick- 
ness came. It’s never come to hand, howsomever, and 
good, kind Leander is lost.” 


70 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ You need not fear for her/' I said, as soothingly as I 
could; “ the ‘Friends’ look after the widows, and see that 
the pension comes to them. I will personally look after 
Mrs. Harrison until her brother can be found, and if we are 
unsuccessful in finding him, our society will provide for 
your wife according to her wants.” 

The poor fellow thanked me with his swimming eyes. 

“ It’s a load gone from my mind then,” he said, “and I’ll 
not worry any more. Madam” — he dropped his voice to a 
whisper — “ there’s enough money in that savings bank to 
bury me; it has been kindly given from time to time by the 
Soldiers’ Friends.” 

“ Don’t save that— it was for food and medicine,” I re- 
plied, “ and don’t trouble about the other; it will all be at- 
tended to.” 

“ Heaven bless your tender face, miss,” was the grateful 
reply. 

“ I have nothing left to wish for. And will you be 
pleased to give Friend No. 10 my very best respects and 
grateful thanks for her great kindness to me and my wife 
ever since she found us out — if she don’t come herself in 
time?” 

I promised, and the wasted face sank back with a satis- 
fied expression. Then I read some holy words of peace to 
him, and took down the illuminated text which Miss Crans- 
town had hung on the foot of his bed, replacing it by a new 
one; and after that I was ready to go. 

“Madam, will you let me kiss your hand?” said the 
young soldier; “ I haven’t a grip left.” 

I bent over him with tear-bedewed eyes, and gave the 
poor boon. Then I went over to the window to give a few 
words of comfort to the wife. Poor young creature, slow 
tears were dropping one by one on her hands, as they deftly 
flew over the dainty satin slipper. 

Lucy expressed her gratitude and thanks for the t : mely 
aid the Soldiers’ Friends had supplied, but I no longer 
watched her flying fingers, or listened with undivided atten- 
tion. 

Looking down, through the high narrow windows, to see 
what view this family enjoyed from their elevated position, 
my eyes encountered the roofs and chimneys of gloomy 
houses, and far below a walled court, where women were 
walking back and forward, dressed in dark blue gowns. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


71 


“What are the women doing?” I asked, in the first 
pause. 

“'Oh, poor things !• they’re having their afternoon air- 
ing.” 

“ What are they?” 

“They belong to the big house just next door, miss; it's 
a private house for mad people, I believe.” 

“For mad people?” 

“Yes, miss — for them as can afford to pay for being mad 
in private. There’s many a person down there in that 
court, miss, I dare say, whose friends think they’re having 
their seasons in Paris or London, or some o’ them fashion- 
able places.” 

‘ ‘ Are these all mad people, Mrs. Harrison ?” 

“Yes, miss; the ones in serge is mad — the ones in brown 
is the matrons. Poor souls! I often pities them, boxed up 
there.” 

I bade Charlie Harrison and his wife good-by, and found 
myself going down the long, steep flights of stairs. 

The men, lounging in idle groups, saluted me as before; 
the women stopped their noisy chattering across entries, and 
dropped smiling courtesies. Miss Cranstown had other pa- 
tients in this house, whose small rooms were reeking with 
soap and water and gay with sand, waiting her arrival, but I 
passed them unheeded and returned the expectant looks of 
their inmates with an unconscious stare. 

Without, seemingly, the help of my physical powers, I 
found myself out upon the street and knocking at the door 
of the house with the grated windows. 

A man in livery soon appeared. 

“I wish to see the superintendent of this establishment.” 

“Which of them, ma’am?” hesitated the man. 

I began to see that I must be cautious. I pondered an 
instant. 

“ Either,” I answered; “I have no preference.” 

I was ushered into a comfortable apartment looking out 
upon the street, but close barred like the upper windows. I 
sat like a stone until the man came back. 

“Dr. Oaks is engaged particularly, and Mr. Warrick is 
out. Will you be pleased to write your business at that desk, 
and leave an address?” 

‘ ‘ Impossible — I must be attended to immediately. One 


72 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


of the matrons will do; bring one to me without loss of 
time.” 

Once more I was alone, scarcely breathing — my conscious- 
ness all submerged in one thought. 

In two minutes the man returned; there was an apologetic 
smile on his face. 

“ I am sorry to say that all the matrons are particularly 
engaged, too, madam. The fact is, it is against the rule for 
visitors to be received into this establishment; all business, 
however urgent, is conducted by letter. You had better 
write a note, madam, and I will carry it to the doctor.” 

“That won't do,” I said, rising; “the matrons are walk- 
ing with the patients in the court ” — he gazed at me in sur- 
prise, and I returned a look of cool determination — “ so 
without taking any of them from their duties, I will, if you 
please, be conducted to the court-yard where they are.” 

As he still hesitated, evidently taken by surprise, I ad- 
vanced resolutely with the half-formed intention of passing 
him. 

My wild expression in this instance stood my friend. Evi- 
dently thinking I was insane myself, he started back, closed 
the door, and rushed down a flight of stairs, probably to 
summon a keeper. I determined to risk all in one bold 
move, so I softly reopened the door, watched the man’s hand 
on the iron balustrade until it had disappeared, then lightly 
followed him, keeping my garments out of sight. 

He was unlocking a door at the end of a long corridor, 
with the upper half grated; I lurked behind an angle until 
he had passed through, then rushed after him. I was a sec- 
ond too late, however— the door closed with a spring and 
left me inside, gazing through the bars. 

I saw what I came to see, however. 

A file of women passed on the damp stone flags, not ten 
feet from me; round they came, some forty souls, in sad 
procession, two by two, with hands clasped before them 
in listless apathy. The women in brown kept an 
inner circle, marching round with watchful eyes and stern 
mien; and here and there a poor soul was sharply repri- 
manded, whose hands were pinioned and whose eyes glared 
from side to side, as her lips babbled with ceaseless energy. 

But one among this Comus-like crew crept gently on, with 
head downcast and hards meekly folded together on her 
breast; and of them all her face was whitest and saddest. 


BE A UTIVUL RIENZI. 


73 


The rough serge gown was wrapped about a form once fairy- 
like with grace and health; but the coarse garment had 
dragged it into a stooping figure with a hollow r chest; the 
brown hair was shorn, yet shone in flat rings like amber cir- 
clets round the pallid brow; the long, slender neck was bend- 
ing meekly and bearing its yoke without demur; the little 
feet flitted wearily over the cold flagstones. Nearer it came 
— this apparition. 

She lifted her eyes slowly — they filled with wonder and 
joy — then she glided out of the ranks and fell upon the 
ground outside the bars. 

And this woman in the blue serge gown, whose compan- 
ion w r aited for her with pointed finger and ghastly mirth — 
this woman, with the faded face and hollow, stooping form 
— great Heaven! she ivas my sister / 


CHAPTER X. 

TAKING UP THE DETECTIVE BUSINESS. 

“Help, master— help! here’s a fish hangs in the net, like 
A poor man’s right in the law; ’twill hardly come out!’’ 

The man in livery, with a matron by his side, was hurry- 
ing toward us. I stretched my arms through the iron bars 
and seized my sister’s hand. Come what would, I would 
hold her now. 

“ Why — what business have you here, madam?” cried the 
woman, angrily. “ See, now, what you’ve done to this pa- 
tient, and the rest will be as bad. Come — get up, and move 
along; no tricks, now!” 

She put her firm hand on my sister’s shoulder, and for- 
cibly dragged her out of my reach; not before I had felt a 
sudden. pressure upon my palm from my sister’s fingers.” 

“ Oh, be prudent,” she breathed, almost inaudibly, with 
her eyes on the ground. 

I gazed eagerly after her, as she feebly rose, assisted by 
the matron, and was allowed to sit on a wooden bench run- 
ning along the high wall. I prayed God in my heart to 
grant me patience and wisdom to know what to do. 

“Strangers are never allowed here,” said the matron, 
opening the door with a key at her girdle, and dashing down 
an iron shutter over the bars, “And, Hobson, I can tell 


74 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


you, you’ll hear about this, you stupid fool!” she continued, 
turning sharply to the mail in livery, who was now beside us. 
“Come along, madam, and state your business above.” 

I was prudent, making no demonstration when my Isolina 
was again hidden from me, but followed silently the woman 
back to the room I had left. 

“Now, ma’am,” she said, grimly, “as brief as you can, if 
you please; my time is precious.” 

“I wish to understand what this establishment is, and 
what its rules are,” I responded, in as quiet a tone as I could 
assume. 

“ This is a strictly private house, madam, for insane 
ladies whose families "wish to conceal the calamity. As for 
the rules, one of the most stringent is that no visitor is al- 
lowed to see the patients, except by written order of the 
parties who placed them here. I’m sorry that you saw fit 
to break the rules, madam. I suppose you will not take 
advantage of the knowledge you have picked up to go and 
make mischief.” 

The half cajoling, half-threatening manner of the woman 
aroused my particular attention. I began to understand 
that this establishment might not be always conducted on 
principles of the strictest honesty, and this knowledge made 
me doubly cautious. 

“ I shall take advantage of nothing, if my business is at- 
tended to in a satisfactory manner,” I said. ' I would 
like to know if a patient’s family can come and reclaim her, 
when they think she has enjoyed the advantages of this 
house long enough?” 

“ Every patient is sent here for a certain term,” returned 
the matron, warily; “for five, ten, or even twenty years; 
after which they are returned to the persons who sent them, 
unless the lease be renewed. We never change these rules.” 

“ But supposing the person who sent them took the right 
upon themselves without consulting the family of the pa- 
tient, what then?” 

“ We have no responsibility in the matter,” said the ma- 
tron, rising; “all business of sending or returning patients 
is done by letter. We never receive any personal communi- 
cations, and no one ever recovers an inmate of this house 
who does not bring an order from the person who placed her 
here.” 


BEAUTIFUL R1ENZI. 


76 


I thought carefully for a moment if I could go safely fur- 
ther. and decided to trust no longer to my own wisdom. 

“ Thank you,” I said, also rising, “I am satisfied with 
your report. I shall communicate with Doctor Oaks to- 
morrow.” 

It was five o’clock when I reached home. “Go,” I said 
to Nelson, the coachman, “as fast as you can fly to my 
father’s office, and tell him to come home.” He sped with 
a will. I watched him run into the street, hail a passing 
cab, and rattle off in a cloud of dust out of sight. I did not 
indulge in my feelings, but sat still as a mouse, and calm as 
a stoic, in my father’s room, thinking over the course we 
should pursue. Yet, by some means, all the servants seemed 
to know something had happened, and they whispered in 
the halls, and passed in and out on various pretenses, and 
gazed at me with eager, expectant glances. 

In less than fifteen minutes the same cab drew up with 
a violent jerk at the gate, and my father hastily entered. 
At sight of him I felt my face growing hot with excitement; 
I was afraid my composure would give way, and so indeed 
it did, for I could not restrain myself from rushing out to 
the door and throwing myself trembling with the joyful 
tidings into his arms. 

“What is it, dearest?” faltered my father. “I was 
afraid it was bad news — now I am almost afraid the news 
is too good. Come in here and tell me.” 

We re-entered my father’s room and shut the door. I was 
calm again, although my voice was tremulous. 

“ I saw some one whom we both love, papa — some one 
who has been — who has been lost.” 

“ Go on, I vanilla.” 

“I would like you to go with me and fetch her home.” 

He ceased his rapid walk and faced me. 

“ Where is she?” 

“She is well, father, quite well; but someone has put 
her into a place for insane people in Jersey City.” 

“ Is she mad?” 

“Heavens, no! that at least I am sure of. Whoever 
put her there did so very wickedly. But I will tell you the 
whole story.” 

I sat down, and in a few rapid words recounted my ad- 
ventures. He listened anxiously. 


76 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZt 


“ I am afraid we shall find it hard to get her out of their 
clutches/' said my father. “ It is clear to me from what 
you say that the whole concern is a swindle, where any 
one can be safely kept out of the way by paying well. The 
surest way of recovering her, would be to pay Dr. Oaks a 
visit this evening in company with a couple of detectives/’ 

“ But father!” I exclaimed, turning pale, “ do you for- 
get that a warrant is already issued for the murderer of 
young Beaumont? Are you willing to have our poor Isolina 
torn from us at the instant of our reunion, to undergo a 
public trial?” 

We remained gazing at each other for some minutes. I 
cannot even faintly portray the repugnance and consterna- 
tion which we both felt as we contemplated our poor Iso- 
lina’s position; perfectly stanch in our convictions of her 
innocence, at that moment we both regarded the arm of the 
law with anything but friendly feelings. 

“ Ransom her, father,” I said, “ take any peaceable 
course to make them give her up quietly, and let us take 
her privately home, until we can go safely somewhere for 
the summer with her. She is not strong enough for any 
trouble just now.” 

“ I will certainly keep her out of the reach of any ras- 
cally warrant,” said my father, firmly, “ until we have 
heard her own explanations, and gathered proofs of her 
innocence. We will go this very hour for her, and try, by 
either threats or bribery to get her out of their hands, be- 
fore they have time to remove her out of our reach.” 

“They will not look for any communication before to- 
morrow,” I said. “So we will take them unawares if we 
go to-night.” 

We conferred together some minutes longer, at the end of 
which Nelson was dispatched for a carriage, and I went 
to gather some needful articles of clothing for my sister, 
while my father filled his pocket-book with bills, in case of 
need. 

It was a few minutes to six when we left the house and 
drove swiftly down to the Jersey City ferry. 

“ If all else fails,” continued my father sadly, “I shall 
be obliged to put the matter in the hands of the police, 
even at the risk of seeing the poor girl conveyed from the 
mad-house to the prison.” 

“Do not fall back upon that,” I urged, anxiously, “ 


un- 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZl. 


77 


til we are satisfied that neither money nor threats have 
any effect. If, as you suspect, it is really a dishonest es- 
tablishment, 1 may manage to give them some trouble; 
you know I saw most of their patients, and if any of them 
have been unlawfully concealed there like our Isolina, I can 
easily rouse the fears of the proprietors." 

While we conferred, we had crossed the ferry, and were 
now entering the narrow lane from Montgomery street, 
when after a few directions to Nelson, we alighted, and 
leaving the carriage a few blocks off, threaded our way 
through the tortuous windings to the red brick building. 

To my father's peremptory knock, the same man in 
livery appeared. He started back in consternation when 
he beheld me, and gave a quick glance at my father, 
which seemed rather to deepen his discomfort. Seen in the 
indistinct light of dusk, with his tall figure, and dark, stern 
face, he might be very properly taken for a person of au- 
thority — the Inspector of Police, at least; by a man, who 
had evidently often watched for such visitors before. 

“ I must see Doctor Oaks," said my father. 

Away sped the man, with the alacrity of alarm, leaving 
us on the outer door step. After a protracted absence, dur- 
ing which a close cab drove up and stationed itself at the 
door, he came back. 

“ Come in," he said, trying to affect urbanity, and 
throwing wide the door; “Dr. Oaks will be most happy 

" here he caught sight of the cab, and remained wildly 

staring. “Walk in here," he said, recovering himself, and 
eagerly ushering us into the room that I had before entered. 
We did so, but no sooner had he withdrawn, than I fol- 
lowed him and stood at the entrance door within the shadow, 
listening with strained ears to his first words to the cabman. 
He ran out and now stood on the muddy pavement, tele- 
graphing his arms excitedly. 

“Drive on — drive on!" he exclaimed, angrily, “what 
makes you draw up here when you see persons at the door? 
Get off, out of this, and don't come back for half an hour, 
perhaps we sha'n't get the party moved to-night." 

The cabman smote his lean horses into motion, and the 
servant slowly re-entered the hall where I waited. 

“Take care, Hobson," I uttered, in a voice of warning, 
“that this house doesn’t get itself into trouble. You had 


78 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 

better send that cab home, when it comes here again. You 
hear?” 

“Madam,” said the man, who was in truth very much 
alarmed, “it’s not my blame — I havegot nothing to do but 
obey — and I hope nobody’ll take the trouble to get me into 
a scrape.” 

“You need hope nothing of the kind,” I returned, “un- 
less you make yourself of service to us. See that no inmate 
of this house is removed without our knowledge, within the 
next hour.” 

The man promised with a profusion of assurances that 
he would do his best to warn us, and hearing steps, I slipped 
back to my father. I had just succeeded in whispering a 
few words to him, when the heavy tread approached us and 
a large, pompous individual entered, with a benignly bald 
head, a gold-rimmed double eye-glass astride his nose, and 
a half frightened expression on his broad, fleshy face. The 
instant, however, that his eyes lit on his visitors, the ex- 
pression changed to severe grandeur and he seated himself 
with a portentous clearing of his throat. 

“ Doctor Oaks — at your service,” he said, sonorously, 
while the stout chair creaked beneath his culminating 
weight; “ there is some mistake here, I fancy — I was given 
to understand that a person — that a person, sir, who was 
entitled to gain admission, waited to see me. Who may 
you be, sir?” 

“A person who has been sent here,” said my father, look- 
ing at me, “ to inquire into some circumstances connected 
with this house.” 

“Indeed — indeed!” repeated the doctor, tapping with his 
large fingers on the arm of his chair, and evidently puzzling 
himself as to the speaker’s probable authority. 

“ To tell the truth,” continued my father, in the same 
quiet tone, “ a young lady who has for some time been 
missing from her friends has been traced to this establish- 
ment. I have no desire to bring this establishment at 
present under the surveillance of the law; but I would ad- 
vise you, sir, to attend to this lady’s request.” 

He looked at me in the same manner as before, and I 
turned boldly to the huge superintendent, whose rubicund 
face was now slightly streaked with fear or anger. 

“The patient whom I saw walking in the court this af- 
ternoon is my sister who was abducted four months ago,” 


BE A UTIFUL RIENZI. 


79 


I said, steadily. “ I will claim her quietly, and say noth- 
ing of what I have become acquainted with "in the house, if 
you deliver her to this gentleman and me immediately.” 

My listener’s double eye-glass glared up and down my 
person with an air of awful majesty — anger prevailing over 
fear. 

“ This house is conducted on strictly honorable prin- 
ciples! I would have you know, madam, that no patient 
ever entered these walls who was not pronounced incurably 
insane by two physicians! We never admitted any one 
who was not made over to us by bond and seal of their 
natural or lawful guardians! Madam, I defy you to pro- 
duce one proof that can impeach our integrity. Others 
may have made mistakes, or sought to defraudus by put- 
ting under our charge ladies over whom they had no legal 
authority. We have not the responsibility "of that. We 
are not punishable for other people’s frauds! Abducted 
indeed!” 

He folded his arms magnificently and regarded me with 
virtuous indignation. 

“ Very good, doctor,” said my father. “ You have left 
a loop-hole of escape for yourself. We shall not look into 
your manifestations of integrity, but take the young lady 
who has been fraudulently pawned upon you and go.” 

“ What is the name? I shall look in my books if she is 
here,” said the superintendent, still puzzling himself over 
my father’s real character, and half-dubiously coming to 
the point. 

“ Nay,” said my father, smiling, “more than likely she 
has been entered here under a false name. Better ask 
nothing about it. The less you meddle in the circumstances 
the safer for you. You are not, as you say, punishable for 
other people’s frauds.” 

“ Then how am I to know which patient this lady claims 
as a sister?” queried the doctor. 

“ Any of the matrons will tell you which of the patients 
rushed to the grated door upon seeing me,” I interposed. 

“And now, before you produce the lady,” remarked my 
father, “I would ask you a few questions. Who sent her 
here as a lunatic?” 

“Sir, I am a man of honor!” exclaimed the doctor, flying 
into a passion, and betraying his knowledge of what patient 
we had come to claim; “and having given my promise 


80 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


to keep secret tlie names of my patrons, I claim the right, 
sir, to keep my word. No gentleman, sir, would ask me to 
break it!” 

“ I shall be sorry to extort the necessary information from 
Doctor Oaks by public measures!” said my father, 
quietly. 

This threat had a very visible effect on the broad physi- 
ognomy of the superintendent. Its hanging cheeks became 
purple, and its ample lips pursued out with the dumb ex- 
pression of feelings of the very liveliest order. 

“ I give you five minutes to remember the circumstances,” 
added my father, sternly. 

“ Sir, I — I am ready to do my utmost to oblige,” burst 
out the good doctor, retreating into his big shell with al- 
most undignified haste; “but upon my honor, I know 
very little about it. The lady was sent here on the first 
day of December in a carriage with one servant, who de- 
livered a letter, saying that Miss White would be made 
our charge until sent for; and meantime, her first year’s pay- 
ment accompanied her. We wrote out her indentures and 
returned them with the man, who drove away, and left her 
in our charge!” 

“And why did you not demand proper proof of their 
right to deposit any lady with you?” exclaimed my father. 
“ Was this honest dealing? And what guarantee have you 
that her fee for next year will be paid? And if not, what 
will become of her? She will be cherished here on the 
memory of her last year’s fee, I suppose? Or perhaps her 
incurable insanity will about this time prove fatal!” 

“ Sir — sir!” cried the doctor, turning very pale, “ I assure 
you that such a thing never occurred, and this is an alto- 
gether unprecedented case. Still, we have attended to the 
lady with the most devoted care, and loaded her with kind- 
ness on account of her very fragile health. She has had 
medical attendance of the highest order — yes, I may say the 
very highest, sir. I hope that will be taken into account.” 

“ It shall ceftainly be taken into account, sir, and the 
character Of the attendance most strictly examined into, if 
the lady’s health is found to have been tampered with.” 

“My dear young lady!” exclaimed Dr. Oaks, turning 
anxiously to me, “ your sister was in a state of settled mel- 
ancholy when she reached us; I believe she is suffering 
from a softening of the brain, which will ultimately develop 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


81 


into hypochondria. We tried all that skill could do, but I 
confess in this case we have failed. Madam, I am only de- 
sirous of restoring her to her friends since she is beyond our 
skill; so I will give immediate orders that she be prepared 
to accompany you.” 

The doughty superintendent rose and violently rang a 
bell; suppressed fury and mortification had turned his obese 
face blue and convulsed. His double eye-glass covered my 
father with a suspicious and glassy scowl. 

The man in livery appeared at the door. 

“ Order Matron No. 6 to gather Miss White’s wardrobe 
together and prepare her for a journey immediately.” 

“ She’s all ready, sir, and the cab is at the door,” said the 
man, with a side glance quick as light toward me. 

“Fool!” muttered the man of honor, darting a malevo- 
lent scowl at his retainer. “You must be making a mis- 
take,” he added, for the general benefit; “I will see to this 
myself.” 

He hurried out, pushing his man like stubble from his 
path; but Mr. Hobson, whose eye was firmly fixed upon the 
main chance, soon crept back again. 

“ They’ve been waiting for you to get out of the way for 
the last twenty minutes,” he said, in a rasping whisper; 
“Mr. Warrick has sat with his top-coat on till he is blis- 
tered with heat, and the patient — she won’t be the better for 
his temper.” 

“ Where did they intend to convey her?” asked my 
father. 

“ To a country institootion!” said the man, with a grin. 
“ When the city gets too hot to hold any of the incurables, 
they prescribe country air for ’em, and when they get 
whisked off there, they’re not found again, you better be- 
lieve. ” 

“ You are a sensible fellow,” said my father, tossing him 
a twenty-dollar bill “ Take that, and if you see anything 
going on that doesn’t strike your notions of propriety in 
connection with Miss White, come and tell me. Off now.” 

The man disappeared with a knowing nod, and in five 
minutes we heard the wheels of a carriage leave the door. 
We were becoming every instant more distrustful, when 
Doctor Oaks re-entered the room, his heavy brows bearing 
evidence of a recent explosion. 

“ I 1 egret to say that Miss White is unfit to travel to- 


82 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


day,” he said, with a succession of bows. “The ex- 
citement which she experienced to-day has left her in a very 
weak state. I will undertake to have her all ready for her 
friends to-morrow morning. Madam, for her sake, will you 
agree to this?” 

“No!” answered my father for me, rising and looking 
resolutely at the doctor full in the face. “We shall either 
leave this house with the lady we demand, or I shall force 
you to answer for every dishonest dealing which has taken 
place since your private asylum was formed.” 

“ Gently — gently, my dear sir!” exclaimed Doctor Oaks, 
turning yellow with alarm; “ there’s no necessity in the 
world for such violent measures — and of course I do not 
fear them, even if you put them into execution. However, 
it shall be as you wish — the young person shall be deliv- 
ered up.” 

He departed with great alacrity, leaving us breathing 
more freely, in the hope that she was still within our reach. 

The man in livery came and lit a small gasolier in the 
hall, and then pleasantly grinning, whispered a few re- 
marks to us. 

“There’s been the greatest rumpus! Mr. Warrick is 
furious, and determined not to give in. He’s for putting 
you off, and then making tracks, bag and baggage, through 
the night; but Oaks, who’s the awfullest coward ever dared 
to be a rogue, won’t have it so. I guess, though, the doctor 
will give you the girl all right now.” 

His head suddenly disappeared as a distant sound became 
audible, and we were left once more alone. 

Some minutes expired in silent attention, when my ears 
caught the sound of feet approaching; not heavy and pon- 
derous footsteps, but such as set my heart beating tumultu- 
ously. I gazed down the long stone corridor and saw two 
women approaching — one in a blue serge gown, the other 
in brown. 

She came, white and eager-faced; her hands outstretched, 
her eyes straining, her heart out-leaping her haggard 
feet; she came at last, my lost sister, and fell upon my 
breast. 

Oh, Heaven be thanked for this joy! 

I wiped away her rushing tears, and with convulsive em- 
braces whispered words of incoherent joy. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


83 


“ My darling! my poor one! have we got you at last? 
Have we got you at last?” 

Then I remembered my father, hut he was taking no no- 
tice of us, and listening to what the matron was saying in 
the hall. 

“We couldn’t get the lady’s things gathered at such short 
notice,” she was saying, “so Doctor Oaks says he will be 
happy to see you to-morrow, and answer to the best of 
his ability any questions you may wish to ask, and the 
wardrobe will be ready by that time. Also, Doctor Oaks 
hopes that the young lady and you will excuse him coming 
to yon this evening, as a patient requires his particular care 
just at present.” 

“ Tell Doctor Oaks to be ready to meet me by twelve 
o’clock to-morrow,” answered my father, gravely; “and be 
so kind as to dispatch some one to the corner of the lane for 
a carriage which is waiting there.” 

Mr. Hobson made himself visible at this, and civilly of- 
fered to do us that service. While he was gone, my father 
suffered himself to look toward his child for the first time, 
though secretly, lest the curious matron might discover the 
emotions which rose to his face, and guess at his relation- 
ship to the patient. Ah! who could crush back the rising 
tear, who looked at that pallid, wasted creature, in her 
prison dress? 

In a few minutes the carriage arrived, and in the next 
minute I had led Isolina out from under the roof of Doctor 
Oak’s private asylum, and seen her safely seated in the back 
seat, with the wrappings we had brought placed upon her; 
and the bonnet and shawl which the asylum provided, thrown 
on the door step of that institution. 

“ My good fellow,” said my father to Hobson, who offici- 
ously held the carriage door for him, “here’s another testi- 
monial to your worth,” he handed him a twenty dollar bill, 
“and take my advice — don’t let me catch you waiter here on 
my next descent upon the worthy establishment. Drive on, 
coachman.” 

Nelson, whose soft, melodious whistling had subsided 
into dead silence at the appearance of his lost mistress, 
now planted the hat, which in his surprise he had snatched 
off, back on his head, sprang to his seat, gave a trium- 
phant chirp to his horses, and drove fleetly toward the 
ferry. 


84 


BEAUTIFUL R1ENZL 


And at last my father was free to take his long-lost child 
in his arms, and bid her fear and grieve no more. She was 
his again, leaning on his heart as she had nestled, a happy, 
happy infant; she would creep into her place there, and tell 
him all the woeful story that had riven her from him, and 
never again should he suffer one shadow to come between 
his darling girl and him. 

“Look up — look up, my precious one,” he was whisper- 
ing; “ don’t tremble any more, you are safe now, you 
are in your old father’s arms, and he will keep you safe, my 
Lina.” 

But she only trembled the more, and clung with her cold, 
pale hands to me, never speaking, never lifting her hidden 
face. 

“Give her time — let her feel that she is safe,” I whis- 
pered. 

So in silence we whirled through the crowded streets, and 
brought her home in the lamplight. 

We led her up the garden path amid scented hyacinths, 
and, with our eyes filled with tears, bade her joyous wel- 
come. 

“ You’ve come back to your father’s roof, my darling, 
and Heaven grant that you may be safe and happy here!” 

The servants gathered round with many a noisy exclama- 
tion of joy and consternation quickly following; Sophie 
spasmodically dropping torrents of tears hovered with long- 
ing eyes, and did what my father and I left undone, in our 
urgent affection; and at last the dear wanderer was left 
with us alone, and we were free to hear that hidden story of 
her woe. 

And now it struck me how silent she had been since fiist 
we clasped her; how strangely passive and subdued, and now 
I saw that the proud, free spirit evermore had fled- — that the 
fire, the vehemence of old was cold and lifeless, that the 
hidden soul was heavy with the horrors it had seen. 

“Speak now, my beloved child,” said my father, tenderly; 
“pour into our ears the strange events which have kept you 
from us, and placed you in that frightful place, and trust me 
to find the brutal offenders and punish them.” 

She turned as pallid as death; her teeth chattered; she 
eyed him with terror; she shrank back from him. 

“Iva — Iva!” she moaned, casting herself into my arms; 
“tell him not to — not to make me speak!” 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


85 


‘‘There, my darling, there!” cried my poor father, with 
the tears upon his 'cheek, “ don’t eye me that way; I’ll let 
you rest, my poor girl.” 

So we laid her down and soothed her fears, and she lay 
quiet, looking at me. 

Well might I ask — was this our Isoliua? Ah, now I felt 
how I had yearned for my Beautiful; how my heart had 
clung to her bright vision — how fond memory had painted 
me, my radiant sister; now that my eyes watched this 
wasted figure in the blue serge gown. And envious recol- 
lection cast up in pathetic contrast, a brilliant picture of 
“The Beautiful Rienzi” as last she stood in this room, 
robed in richness, her cheeks like the heart of a Languedoc 
rose, when the sunset gleams most redly through the leaves, 
her eyes filled with beauty’s rays, her form replete with na- 
ture’s rarest gifts. 

Away with that fairy dream! Let it not touch the grief- 
stricken gray of this picture; gone is the tender grace of 
that day, vanished the brightness, the joy! 

The shadow has spread dim wings above the sunny head 
and touched the bloom with death; the hand of Ruth has 
been busy; the unholy spell has been flung! 

And yet — this dear wreck — she looks at me with silent, 
suffering tenderness; she will not speak, but her mute 
glance speaks for her and knits my sobbing heart to hers. 
Wrecked as she is, silent, mysterious, changed, I clasp 
her in my arms, and cry, with grateful soul uplifted: 

“ Thank Heaven she is home again!'* 


CHAPTER XI. 

CONSPIRACY TO CHEAT THE GALLOWS. 

“ Oh ! breaking heart that will not break, 

Oh ! pale, pale face, so sweet and meek, 

Thou smilest, but thou dost not speak, 

What wantest thou ? whom dost thou seek ?” 

Tennyson. 


And now our duty lay plain before us. 

Seeing that Isolina Rienzi was in her proper senses, 
though a little inclined to melancholy madness; further- 
more, seeing that she either would not or could not throw 


86 


BEA UTIFUL RIENZI. 


any light on her share in the events which led to Cecil 
Beaumont’s violent death, it behooved my father to mortify 
the weakness of his flesh, and display the same metal as 
that model of justice, who condemned his own son to death, 
and enjoyed the spectacle. 

But my father was no Brutus; and had he been, I fear his 
kind soul would have been severely hampered by my out- 
cries against this glutting of the sword of justice. 

Therefore, in our mutual tender-heartedness, we deter- 
mined as far and as long as circumstances would permit to 
keep the proscribed individual concealed in her own home, 
from the too hungry teeth of the law until she could gather 
up a measure of strength to survive its shaking. 

We adjured our few servants to keep discreet silence on 
the subject of her return; and let me say here for the honor 
of American reticence and fidelity, that as far as I could 
judge, they never betrayed the confidence we reposed in 
them. 

■ We had her apartment exclusively on the third story, and 
it consisted of her own bedroom and dressing-room, Avhich 
were adjoining each other, and quite out of the way of 
casual visitors. These rooms were guardedly locked, and 
Sophie and I attended to her wants exclusively. 

We thus hoped to be permitted to nurse our poor en- 
feebled girl for a time unharassed by the painful and harrow- 
ing steps which would inevitably be taken, as soon as she 
should be discovered by Miss Meredith’s detectives. 

For we found that she was shattered in health and in 
spirits to a pitiable degree. Her whole frame seemed to 
have been crushed by some jarring shock; her constitution 
was almost destroyed; and her nerves were so painfully weak 
that the slightest incident was sufficient to startle her almost 
into a frenzy of terror. 

But while I proudly watched over my invalid sister, others 
had not been idle. 

Upon my father repairing on the following day to Jersey 
City to keep the appointment he had made with Dr. Oaks, 
for the purpose of forcing the truth out of him concerning 
the person who had put Isolina into his charge, hey, presto! 
the scene was changed as completely as a juggler’s trick. 
The large brick house was silent and empty ; the brass 
knocker woke dismal echoes when he plied it; a large pla- 
card in the window announced that “ This house to let,” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


87 


awaited any gentleman’s pleasure who had a use for the 

grated windows. , n , . . 

Dr Oaks and his compeer with their prey and their 
mvrmidons had doubtless withdrawn into discreet retire- 
ment for a time, or flourished in some distant city safe from 
the pursuit of inquisitive relatives and meddlesome detec- 
tivGS* 

So until my sister could tell us her story, all extraneous 
knowledge seemed unattainable ; and we gathered m our 
interests and centered them on her. . , 

Oh! it was sad to mark the changes which these four 
months had wrought in her. 

Lovely she ever had been, and ever would be, even should 
vears creep one by one upon her and dull youth s freshness, 
but now in her weakness, and gentle, uncomplaining 
melancholy, there was almost a light and sweetness too holy 

to be borne by eyes of love. , T - q 

So engrossed was I with my poor sister, that I suffered a 
week to pass before I resumed my visits to the soldiers 
families which had been so abruptly broken off. 

Having carried the letter and photograph which had been 
intrusted to me, to our superintendent, and held a con- 
sultation with my comrades on the matter, it was resolved 
to send an agent to the Potomac, where the company m 
which young Rosecraft had been, still was stationed, and 
havino- gathered all available information from that point, 
to trace him as faithfully as possible to his present quarters. 

Having set in train the arrangements for carrying out 
Harrison’s wishes, I next directed my steps to the ferry, to 
finish my visiting in Miss Cranstown s district. I found 
abundant work awaiting me, and many objects of interest; 
but none so sad as that which encountered my eyes, on run- 
ning up atlastto tell poor Charlie Harrison what I had 

There he lay dead, in his poor coffin of painted deal, his 
kind face smoothed at last from lines of pam and white, 
since the fever flush was gone forever. There he lay, calm 
and moveless, though the girl for 

been so heavy, was weeping and moaning beside h.m, theie 
he lav with the fixed smile on his violet lips, with the fixed 
eyelid sealed to the hollow cheek. The young soldier had 
a-one to ioin a host whose victories have crowned them each 


88 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


a king; whose captain showed them how to fight, and how 
to die. 

No more pain and weariness, no more care for Charlie 
Harrison. He has won his commission and gone away. 

I took the young widow under my especial charge, and 
had her comfortably boarded in a safe family, where she 
could ply her trade and be under no fear that she would be 
homeless. 

There I left her, until we should see if Leander Kosecraft 
could be found. 

I took great care to go out as much as I had done be- 
fore the event which had happened in our family ; to fre- 
quent every scene which it might be supposed I would 
frequent; to be a constant and always to be depended upon 
visitor and servant in my society; and to keep up exactly 
the same demeanor of quiet grief, which I had observed be- 
fore my sister was found. This was scarcely feigned; my 
grief was only one degree less now in the daily contempla- 
tion of my beloved one's sufferings. 

Mr. Lindhurst came as usual, and in his kind, thoughtful 
way strove to fling rays of sunshine across my gloomy path. 
But, much as I learned to love him and depend upon him, 
I closed this page of my heart even from him, and locked 
the secret return within the limits of our own house. 

I found her on the 5th day of April, and we nursed her 
quietly and without apparent danger for nearly four weeks, 
during which time we could not see that she gained much 
strength; and, what was even more painful, notwithstand- 
ing the ceaseless and tender love which we both lavished 
upon her, she still remained sunk in the profoundest melan- 
choly. 

Day after day found all our efforts futile to kindle a spark 
of light in that darkened heart. The father, whose deep, 
tender soul was yearning over his child, only seemed to 
throw additional shadow over her whenever he appeared. 
It became heart-rending to me to watch the sad, gentle face 
of my sister grow hard and despairing, whenever our 
father’s foot sounded on the stairs. He would wait for me 
to unlock the door, and steal in with a basket of rarest fruit 
in his hand, and a smile on his dear, tender face; and it 
would be: 

“ Will my Lina taste these grapes? See, how large and 
luscious, and sweet as those grown on the sunny sides of 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


89 


Vesuvius ! Will my own darling tell her old father how she 
is to-day? Let me see those downcast eyes, if they are clear 
and bright!” 

And, oh! to see her turn away in a'nguished coldness, 
while the tears dropped down her cheeks, and her quivering 
lips kept that stern and unending silence! 

On the second of May a letter came from my long-absent 
mother which threw my father and me into such a transport 
of delight as we had not known in many a long day. It 
informed us that she had recovered from her long and 
obstinate malady; that she knew all the calamities which 
had fallen upon us, and had resolved to join us immediately 
and help us to bear our sorrows; that she trusted in 
Heaven that our Isolina’s fate should be made known to 
us, and did not despair; that she would bring faith and 
hope with her, to cheer us, and that together we should 
trace to its source the plot which had driven one of our 
number from us. 

This letter, so strong and healthful in its tone, infused 
new life into us; it spoke of hope, and bade us look beyond 
the present darkness; it seemed to prophesy a happier era. 

“ Run and tell your sister the joyful news,” was my 
father’s first thought. “ Tell her that she’ll soon have a 
mother to make her well — that will rouse her.” 

I hastened up stairs with the letter fluttering in my 
hand; my face was beaming with happiness; my whole 
being was transposed with joy; I was the impersonifi ca- 
tion of hope; 1 was the “ bearer of good news from a far 
country.” 

In this state of mind I let myself into the sunless room, 
where alone my silent sister sat, a book unopened by her 
side, her dark, melancholy eyes resting on vacancy. 

‘‘My darling!” I exclaimed, placing myself before her, 
“ I have such good news to tell you!” 

She turned her spectral face and gazed at me in wonder, 
as if the light and life which I had brought with me were 
dazzling her dim sight. 

“ Papa sent me up with a message,” I continued, in a tone 
of subdued eagerness. “He said ‘tell her that her mother 
is coming to make her well,’ and she is— she is, my dar- 
ling; she will be here in a few weeks; she says so in her 
letter.” 

Strange, indeed, was the effect of my glad tidings. 


90 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


My sister’s face gradually became livid and almost dis- 
torted with a look of horror. She clasped her hands, and 
rose, looking at me wildly. 

“ My mother?” she gasped. 

“ Yes,” I answered, abashed and affrighted; “ our dear 
mother who has been desperately ill for months; she is 
coming home. Oh, sister, I thought this would make you 
glad!” 

Her face relaxed and vibrated with a flood of emotion; 
she turned away and flung herself down, weeping bitterly. 
There was no joy in these tears; it was bitter, bitter grief. 

“ Isolina,” I said, gently, “it is mamma. Surely you 
will not grieve when you understand that she is coming home 
to leave us no more. We shall all be home, then, dear, and 
you will be in the midst, safe from harm.” 

“ No, no, no!” she moaned; “ I shall go away!” 

The last ray of pleasure vanished from my heart, leaving 
me pale and cold as she had been. 

“Sister, what can you mean?” I cried; “go away? 
Where would you go away from mamma? Alas, poor 
sister, what are you saying? No one can love you like a 
mother!” 

“Forbear!” she muttered, with a shudder — “let me for- 
get, if I can. Yes!” she exclaimed, raising her face from 
her hands with a wild light flashing in her eye; “let me 
forget her, if I can — let memory die, if it will!” 

Oh, what did these wild words mean? I dared not ask. 

The turbid veins were throbbing in her throat like dark 
cords; her breath was coming in short, choking gasps. I 
could only take her hands in mine, and hold them tenderly, 
until the sad paroxysm had lessened in violence, then I ven- 
tured to approach the subject by bringing in another. These 
words of hers about going away had alarmed me; I would 
show her how impossible it was, and instill it in her mind, 
so that if ever the crazy idea came to her again she would 
relinquish it. 

“ Isolina,” I commenced, cautiously, “ I am afraid you 
must feel very dull here in these two rooms, with the top of 
the house for exercise, do you not?” 

Her attention was arrested, and she questioned me with 
her sweet sad eyes, mutely, as if to knowVhat I was driving 
at. 

“ Have you noticed,” I continued, “ how we have kept 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


91 


you hidden from strangers, and these doors locked ever since 
you came home?” 

“ Yes,” she answered, in a rapid whisper, “ but bolts and 
bars are nothing to her when she chooses to come.” 

“Who, sister, who?” 

She pulled her hands from me, and covered her face. 

“ Never mind my ravings,” she said, in a low voice ; “ I 
am insane, you know — a monomaniac.” 

“Nonsense! You are not to think so, Isolina ; it is not 
true.” 

“ Dr. Oaks and Mr. Warrick pronounced me so before 
they admitted me into their asylum.” 

“ Two rogues. They were paid to conceal you from your 
family, Isolina, and I have no doubt they were paid by some 
wretch to pronounce you insane. Ah, I wish you could tell 
me who sent you there.” 

I allowed my excitement to carry me too far, and regretted 
the words as soon as they were said. 

She recoiled from me, and fell to trembling. 

“ Have I said anything?” she whispered, brokenly. 

“Oh, darling Isolina,” I exclaimed, bursting into tears 
of distress, as I felt that her confidence was beyond my skill 
to win, “ why do you hold aloof from us thus? You know 
that we would sacrifice anything to give you happiness or 
save you from danger. Oh, why will you not let us help 
you ?” 

She wrung her hands, and with large tears flowing down 
her pale cheeks, eyed me sorrowfully.” 

“ I am breaking your heart, dearest,” she said, bending 
toward me ; “ Let me go away, and forget me.” 

“No,” I ejaculated, alarmed beyond measure to find that 
this insane fancy still clung to her. “ If you go away from 
this house they will arrest you, and put you in prison. 

“ Why?” 

Had I done wrong? I trembled at my own imprudence, 
but went on. 

“No one can find out the cause of — of Mr. Beaumont’s 
death, and they suspect — they have dared to suspect ” 

It seemed to strike her in a flash. 

“That / murdered him — me?” she cried. “ Oh, poor 
Cecil; and I would have gladly died to save him.” 

I gazed at her vehemently. In my unskillful hands the 
secret indeed had slipped from my reach, but this I had 


92 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


heard from her own lips, this blessed assurance to set our 
hearts at rest — she was innocent. 

Not that we required such an assertion from her, but per- 
haps when she was stronger, she might tell us sufficient to 
save her from the misguided grasp of the law. 

I went down to my father, who was anxiously waiting 
the issue of my news, and told him all that had transpired. 


CHAPTER XII. 

TWO MESSENGERS AT THE DOOR. 

“ Softly ! she is lying 
With her lips apart; 

Gently! she is dying 
Of a broken heart.” — Anon. 

I was sitting alone in my father’s room, anxiously waiting 
his appearance. At this moment he was with my sister, 
venturing to probe her memory gently ; and I, chafing and 
trembling, misdoubted the result more and more as the 
minutes flew by. 

It was almost an hour before he returned to me, and I 
saw by his face that he had failed. 

“ I have no influence with her,” he sighed, throwing him- 
self upon a sofa in an attitude of deep dejection; “ she re- 
coils from the subject, and from us all, I think. And, un- 
fortunately, I have thrown her into a state of dangerous ex- 
citement.” 

“ Shall I go to her?” I exclaimed, rising. 

“No; she does not wish to see you; she told me to send 
her up Sophie, and not to allow Iva to go — she wished rest. 
To prefer a servant to you, her little sister, who should share 
each thought of her breast! It hurts me, little Iva, for 
you’ve been faithful to her. 

“ I don’t feel it, father,” I said, with would-be calmness. 
“ You know she is sick, and has strange fancies.” 

“ Oh, my girls!” he burst out, laying his quivering hand 
on my shoulder, “you whom I have encircled in one arm, 
and covered with my handkerchief when you were little 
birdlings together; what tears you so wide apart now? And 
to think — to think that she could cry scorn on her father’s 
love.” 


BEAUTIFUL IUENZL 


93 


He drew me close and groaned on my shoulder. He 
saw at last that icy wall which had risen up and shut him 
out; nothing but his blind unsuspicion could have made 
him blind so long. Grieving mutely for him, with noth- 
ing but silence for comfort, I softly kissed his brow. 

“ I will tell you the substance of our interview,” he said, 
mastering his emotion after a time. “ As you may suppose, 
it was a long time before I saw my way clear to come to 
the point. At last, when she appeared to be quite calm 
and reasonable, I asked her if she would answer a few 
questions which it was necessary for me to ask her. She 
instantly got up with much alarm in her manner, and cried 
that she would answer nothing. I tenderly asked her the 
reason, and got no answer. But dearest, I said, it is ab- 
solutely necessary that you explain what led to young Beau- 
mont’s death. Your life is in danger, unless you confide 
to some one the circumstances, so that they may be used 
for your benefit.” 

“ ‘I cannot tell you anything/ she said, huskily. 

“‘ You must/ 1 repeated, with firmness, ‘I cannot leave 
this room until I understand your position/ 

“ She turned as paler as death, and eyed me strangely. 

“ ‘Who killed Cecil Beaumont?’ I proceeded. 

“ ‘ No one/ was the answer. 

“ ‘What? — was it an accident?' I cried, ‘were you with 
him, and was it an accident?’ 

“ She began to weep and moan, ‘poor Cecil! poor Cecil?’ 

“ ‘ But answer me/ 1 urged. 

“ ‘What? — you demand an explanation?’ she exclaimed, 
turning with sudden excitement on me. 

“ ‘ I wished to know for your own sake, my child/ I an- 
swered, soothingly. 

“This colloquy lasted for some time, but in spite of her 
feebleness, her excitement, and her weakness, I gained 
nothing from her. At last I relinquished that question, 
and took up another. 

“ ‘Tell me what secret you have, which you hide from 
me, and receive my counsel.’ 

“ A strange, bitter smile crossed her lips, but she was 
speechless. I attempted to draw her to my arms, in order 
to win, by love and pity, her confessions, but she recoiled 
from me with a shriek. 

“ ‘ Go away!’ she cried, ‘don’t touch me!' 


94 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


He stopped, overcome by his own recital, and bowed his 
face in his hands; silver hairs were glistening among his 
dark locks, and these added dignity to his sorrow. I drew 
near and knelt beside him, and we mingled our tears 
together. 

“ She repulsed me completely,” he continued, sternly 
conquering his emotion, and retired to her chamber to 
avoid me. “ I could not believe that she actually shunned 
me, and I followed to the door, for one more appeal. 
“ ‘ Lina, my darling girl/ 1 said, scarcely able to keep these 
tears from unmanning me, ‘come to your old father's 
arms, and tell him who has tampered with your happiness/ 

“ She fixed on me a look of sudden and wild reproach. 

“ ‘ It was you / she exclaimed, ‘ and this is retribution!’ 

“ ‘ What do you mean, dearest?’ I asked, gently. 

“ She became as white as a slab of marble, and clasped 
her hands together. 

“ ‘ I cannot speak/ she whispered, ‘ and if you command 
me, I will go away and never return/ 

“ I saw that she was in earnest, and I urged her no 
longer. She threw herself on the bed and turned her head 
from me as a signal that she wished to be alone. I yearned 
for one word from her to show that her heart was not 
alienated from me, as her words implied, and I bent 
fondly over her. 

“ ‘ I have been guilty of many errors/ I said, ‘but never 
one which could bring woe to wife or child. Kiss me in 
token that love is not lost between us/ She only buried 
her face in the pillow and waved me away, while a fit of 
trembling seized her. 

“ ‘ You are ill/ I exclaimed, ‘shall I send for your sister?’ 

“ ‘ No — I want rest,’ she said, choking with her emotions; 
‘let Sophie come to me!’ 

“1 was forced to go, worse than unsuccessful, and that is 
all.” 

“Oh, father, what dreadful plot against her life and our 
happiness this must be!” I sighed. 

We had not conferred five minutes longer ,when Sophie’s 
pallid face looked in at the door. 

“I wish you would come up-stairs,” she said, looking at 
me, “ there’s something the matter with Miss Rienzi.” 

“ What?” cried my father, starting to his feet; “is she 
ill?” 


BEAUTIFUL MENZI. 


95 


“Sir, I wish — I’m afraid we must have the doctor,” she 
said. 

He^ asked no more questions but dashed into the hall, 
found his hat, and left the house, while with flying speed 1 
reached my sister’s chamber. 

She was still lying on her bed, and her eyes were closed, 
with a strange filmy appearance, and her whole face was a 
faded white. There was something bound across her mouth 
which looked like a scarlet handkerchief, and Sophie came 
and pushed me away, and approached the bed with a white 
one in her hand. 

“ What’s that ?*’ I whispered, my scared eyes fixing on 
some scarlet stains on the snow of the pillows, “and oh, 
what’s that?” 

The scarlet handkerchief was ensanguined with my sis- 
ter’s blood; it oozed in a dark fringe upon the towel 
which lay upon her bosom; it trickled in little pools upon 
the sheets. 

“ A blood vessel burst!” said Sophie, attempting conceal- 
ment no longer; “put your hand upon her breast here — 
see if it beats; I am afraid she is going. She kept her face 
buried in the pillows and 1 was here a good whiie before I 
knew she was choking in her heart’s blood.” 

“ Sophie, what shall we do? Tear away that crimson 
cloth, it will suffocate her. Oh, Sophie, she will die, be- 
fore anybody comes, and I don’t know what to do!” 

I was quite useless; I fell on the floor, shaking with ter- 
ror. and the faithful girl who was collected through it all, 
did what she could alone. 

Before I dared to lift my face again, hasty feet approached, 
and my father came in, followed impetuously by our fam- 
ily doctor, who with one stride was at the bedside, with 
hands and eves busy, while a stream of rapid directions is- 
sued from his mouth. And my father, with one rapt look 
at his Lina, came and lifted me up and held me in his 
arms. 

“Don’t sink, little daughter,” he muttered, hoarsely, 
“oh, Heaven! don’t leave me alone. Look at her, she’s 
gone!” 

In a few hours Dr. Graves was ready to depart; the effu- 
sion of blood had been stopped, the swoon overcome, and 
his patient was in a slumber. With the devotion of a lover 


96 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI 


my father waited on him in the outer chamber, and listened 
to his opinion, as the voice of an oracle. 

“ She’s in a most extraordinary condition/' he said, look- 
ing gravely at my anxious father, “some deep, mental dis- 
order has occasioned this final rupture, and the state of emaci- 
ation which she is in, confirms the idea of mental rather 
than bodily distress having brought her so low. Wherever 
she has been, Mr. Eienzi, she has been most cruelly tam- 
pered with. It is a wonder her mind is not gone. I find in 
her a predisposition to mania, and under the present pressure 
she will succumb to it.” 

“What can we do to lighten the pressure, doctor? She 
can or will give us no clew to her sufferings/’ 

“ There’s little can be done in that case, but do what 
you can. Keep her quiet, cheer and animate her mind; 
avoid every distressing theme; when she can be moved, have 
her out of this to some quiet spot in the country for 
change of air and scene; give her what she wants — anything, 
if you know of it, and then, perhaps, she may live for 
years. But I tell you honestly, Mr. Eienzi, don’t hope too 
much, she may be spared long or short, but mark you — 
she’s got her death blow. Now confide to me the circum- 
stances under which you found her, that I may have some 
insight to the malady of her mind.” 

My father immediately complied with his request, he led 
him down stairs, and acquainted him with everything, and 
received in return the most cordial sympathy from the good 
old doctor who had been a family friend for years. 

Then he went away — one more repository of our strange 
secret. 

Quietly we put the house in order for its new misfor- 
tune; we made our preparations to wait for the victory of 
life or death in that secret chamber; we calmly prepared to 
take the burden of nursing upon ourselves, my father, Sophie 
and I, and still to meet the world’s watchful eyes, revealing 
nothing. My father and I were to sit up each alternate 
night; Sophie to take the charge through the day, so that 
we might follow our * usual duties, and divert suspicion. 
We had indeed little hope of bringing her through, but we 
resolved with Heaven's mercy and Dr. Grave’s skill to 
do our best. 

Under these arrangements, my father commenced the 
first night at ten o’clock, the door locked as usual, the win- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


97 


dows carefully closed with shutters, the night-lamp burn- 
ing low. I retired early that I might be ready to take my 
turn at three o’clock, and after starting awake feverishly 
two or three times to listen for a signal that ‘‘something” 
had occurred, I at length fell into a heavy slumber which 
lasted until the daylight began to struggle in, when I rose in 
haste and found I had overslept my watch an hour. 

I flitted to the locked door and let myself in, and there my 
# father sat by the dim night-lamp, pale of cheek and heavy- 
eyed, but vigilant as ever, as he counted his drops of medi- 
cine , and bent over the letter of minute instructions. The 
fall of gossamer could not be lighter than his touch on her 
pulse; nor the softest whisper of a woman, than the breathed 
caress as he poured the diluted drops through her parted 
lips and fanned her brow. 

“How is she?” I whispered. 

“ The same,” was the answer. 

I approached and found her still sunk in her dream-like 
apathy. 

“Why did you allow me to oversleep myself?” I asked. 
“ You look very worn and tired, my father, while I have 
been stealing an hour of your rest!” 

“I am not fatigued,” he said, looking tenderly at my sis- 
ter. “ I do not know how the night sped; it seemed short.” 

“ Go now,” I urged; “you must be ready to attend your 
office at the usual hour, you know.” 

He fain would have lingered, but at last he yielded to me 
and prepared to depart. 

“Study these directions well; I have found them of the 
very greatest use,” he said; “ why, I followed its dictates to 
the moment, and I really think such punctuality is a very 
great step in the right direction!” My dear father, he men- 
tioned with pride his skill as a sick-nurse! 

“ What bottle is this?” I asked, lifting a large one up; “ it 
was not here last night.” 

“That is one the doctor brought — he was here at mid- 
night, and said she was not worse; he staid nearly an 
hour.” 

“ He is very kind to us, papa.” 

“ Yes, dear, he sympathizes with us in our sad position. 
Now I shall go. One charge I would vehemently impress 
upon your mind; let no imprudent noises disturb her — quiet 
is her life.” 


98 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


He went away and I commenced my watch. 

I scarcely dared to move, lest some unforeseen sound might 
startle the sleeper, and spoil all; I read good Dr. Graves’ 
cramped characters until I could repeat the directions from 
end to end, and my eyes wandered with all the restlessness 
of my impatient nature from object to object in the room. 

There was a portfolio, of rather large size, leaning against 
the wainscot, behind a chair, out of which were exposed the 
corners of several sheets of Bristol board. It had fallen for- 
ward against the chair; one of the crimson ribbons which 
tied it was broken off, and the contents had slipped toward 
one end. Again and again my eyes returned to this object, 
with a pertinacity which became each time more disagree- 
able. I knew it was an old portfolio of my sister’s, whose 
contents I had often carelessly looked over, and I suppose 
she had been looking at it lately, and left it there. 

At last the sight of it became a sort of nervous torture. I 
turned my back upon it, and looked at something else; but 
malicious fancy reproduced it behind every chair in the 
room. I sprang up and cautiously lifted the chair aside, 
determined to push my enemy out of sight. As I lifted it, 
one picture from the many which made the portfolio so 
heavy rustled out and fell at my feet. 

I put the portfolio behind a curtain, picked up the paint- 
ing and sat down with a grotesque feeling as if fate had per- 
sisted in having her way, to look at what she had thrust 
upon me. It was but a tiny bit of painting in the center of 
a broad sheet of paper. No tyro’s hand had rested on this 
page; my sister’s brush, fine though it was, had never 
thrown these cold, sharp lights and glooms so vividly upon 
a simple scene. 

A shadowy shape in the distance, like that of a cottage 
leaf-mantled; a heap of muffling foliage running down to the 
foreground and breaking off in the center, where one broad 
lane of straightly lancing moonlight streamed down; and in 
the pale flash of the heavens, half-encircled by somber front- 
age — two figures. She standing erect, her hands clasped to- 
gether; her countenance raised, with a glad, exultant, ten- 
der fearlessness to his and this face, which was thus touched 
and glorified with love’s conquest, was Isolina’s! And who 
was the conqueror? A tall man who bent over her with an 
arm supporting her, and one strong white hand holding her 
clasped and smaller hands in the palm; a face whose like I 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


99 


had never seen was fixed by her upward glancing eyes, into 
solemn, almost wondering joy; and I studied it, even as 
it was studying my sister’s. 

It was a pale, high-bred, rather spare face, whose broad 
forehead caught the silver intensity of the moonbeam, leav- 
ing the bending eyes and mouth in shadow; those down-drop- 
ped eyes just touched the eyes of the woman, and seemed to 
pour the depth of a thousand souls into the glance; they ex- 
pressed melancholy, yet pride, and the firm mouth had 
something of a haughty curve, though now joy had swept 
away every other feeling. For the rest, a slightly aquiline 
nose, whose tense nostrils denoted more than all the rest, 
that sensitive pride, which lived though vailed in every 
feature; dark clustering hair, and a small, jetty mus- 
tache, which did not disguise the beauty of the short curved 
lip. 

Such was the picture which fate (so we call Providence) 
persisted in showing to me. 

Was it a portion of my sister’s past life that I had seen? 
that hidden life which was sealed in a book of mystery from 
us? Then who was this man who had told the “ old, old 
tale,” and with such success? Was this “I. J?” I should 
know that face, if ever my eyes encountered it; and I should 
look to meet that gracious, strong and true face, to the day 
of my death. 

Had this man won her love, then left the flower to 
wither? 

I put away the painting, for my father to see it, and re- 
turned to my patient, my thoughts full of this important 
discovery. 'But when I looked at that white, moveless face 
on the pillow, I felt how vain my plans and dreams were 
like to be for her. 

The hours crept on with me, I scarce knew how; the utter 
silence gradually gave way to sounds in the street, soon fol- 
lowed by those in the house; steps fell on the stairs and 
halls, and the usual cleansing operations were guardedly 
gone through. With a curious intuition of what each sound 
betokened, I judged of the hours by the voices, without 
looking at the watch. Thus I inferred that it must be eight 
o’clock when I heard a startling peal of the door-bell, and 
the postman was at the door; but sounds followed which 
puzzled me, and caused me to hover anxiously over Isolina, 
lest she should be rudely wakened; strange voices and steps, 


100 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


and shutting of doors, with the most wanton disregard for 
the sick girl, for whom quiet was life. At last they ceased, and 
the house was quiet again, and more than an hour passed 
away. Then Sophie came slipping in with her master’s key 
and" locked the door behind her, and without coming to look 
at the invalid, busied herself in the dressing-room arrang- 
ing the furniture. 

“ Sophie," I whispered, “ come and see if you notice any 
change." 

“ Yes, Miss Iva," said the girl, hurriedly. 

But still she staid, and when I rose and looked through 
the door- way, I saw her folding up some dresses and weeping 
violently though without sound. 

“What is the matter, my girl?" I exclaimed. 

“Oh, don’t — don’t say nothing, miss!" she gasped; “if 
I was to say one word, I’d scream out and kill that poor 
saint." 

“Is my father all right, Sophie?" 

“Oh, yes, Miss Iva, dear, and he’s up this hour, and 
breakfast will soon be ready, and then I’m to take your 
place.” 

It was nine o’clock when I unlocked the door to go down 
stairs. I closed it again with a start, and turned to Sophie, 
my face whitening with a disagreeable shock which I had 
got. 

“ There is a strange man standing at the door,” I whis- 
pered. 

“ Hush! — oh. Miss Ivanilla, don’t!" returned the girl, 
wringing her hands; “ don’t ask me a word — I can’t speak 
of it; and if she heard you she’d die. Oh, Miss Iva dar- 
ling, run down to your father — run straight down to 
him !’’ 

I braced my nerves and reopened the door, leaving Sophie 
to lock it on the inside. With downcast eyes I passed a 
tall, muscular man, clad in a dark-blue coat, who gazed 
keenly and silently at me. I went step by step down stairs, 
and, to my intense amazement, found two other men sit- 
ting on chairs on each side of the entrance door, who leered 
and nodded their heads at me. I passed them with an af- 
frighted rush and gained the dining room, where my father 
was standing on the hearth-rug. 

“Father, who are these men in the passage and at my 
sister’s door? What does it mean?" I cried. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


101 


“ They are waiting to take your sister away, to answer 
for the murder of Cecil Beaumont!” was the stern reply. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

AT OPEN DOORS DOGS COME IN. 

“ I was cut off from hope in that sad place, 

Which yet to name my spirit loathes and fears; 

My father held his hand upon his face, 

I, blinded with my tears, 

Still strove to speak; my voice was thick with sighs 
As in a dream.” — Tennyson. 

My pen trembles, as I write these things. The black 
memory of that time rushes ever me and fills my eyes with 
unavailing tears. Pity that woman’s heart could ever breed 
such vengeance, and pour it out so ruthlessly. 

These officers were employed by Miss Meredith, and had 
been searching for five months for Miss Meredith’s hapless 
friend. They had been paid to watch the house which had 
extended a hospitable roof over Miss Meredith’s ’head; and 
these spies had at last discovered the fugitive. 

For some time they had suspected that something unusual 
was going on in the house, and had set all their vigilance 
to the work of discovering what it was. They soon assured 
themselves that we had a concealed visitor; but not until 
last night could they determine who the visitor was. They 
set spies to watch Miss Rienzi’s windows, and discovered the 
gleam of a lamp through the crack of the shutters, burning 
all night. They had seen Doctor Graves enter the house at 
midnight, and leave again at half-past one, and boldly inter- 
cepting him, they had asked who was ill in Mr. Rienzi’s 
house. The doctor wavered an instant, but almost imme- 
diately recovered his wits. 

“ No one,” he answered; “ I have been having a rubber 
there, and staid later than I intended; ’twas long whist.” 

“ Mr. Rienzi, Miss Ivanilla Rienzi, Doctor Graves, and— 
who?” queried the detective. 

“Dummy!’' was the prompt reply. 

“ But you went there at twelve o’clock; does Mr. Rienzi 
commence long whist at twelve o’clock?” 

“ No, but he finishes it,” said the good doctor, cudgeling 


102 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


his brains meanwhile; “and — if you had used your eyes 
as well as your curiosity, you would have seen something/' 

“ Well, sir?” 

“ You would have seen me go there before dinner — this 
was the hour of my first visit — and be called away almost 
immediately to attend a case, which did not release me until 
barely in time for my supper at Mr. Rienzi’s house.” 

They were staggered, but not convinced; however, the 
doctor was impenetrable, and they let him go with an 
apology. 

At six o’clock in the morning, a young man, neatly 
dressed like a druggist’s clerk, with a bottle sealed up in 
white paper sticking out of his pocket, accosted the parlor- 
maid as she was down at the gate, cleaning the brasses. 

“Here is the medicine for the young lady,” he said, hand- 
ing her the bottle. She took it immediately and went with 
it to the house. 

“ Doctor Graves told me to ask how she was?” called out 
the young man; “he said I was to take back an exact ac- 
count.” 

“ Her pg sat up with her till four o’clock, and she was 
the same way then. Miss Ivanilla is watching now, and 
was to ring if any change happened; but she hasn’t rung 
yet.” 

Having obtained the information he was in quest of, the 
young man, who was in truth employed by the detectives, 
hastened away, and Hester carried the bottle up stairs and 
delivered it to Sophie. She, seeing written upon it, “To 
be taken at 8 P. M.,” and all unaware of the grim joke 
which the double entendre implied, carefully laid it on the 
hall table, to be carried in at 8 o’clock. 

In half an hour three detectives entered the house, armed 
with a warrant for Miss Rienzi’s arrest. 

Unfortunately for that prompt obedience which ought 
ever to wait upon the mandates of the law, another war- 
rant was just now in waiting for the accused, and so a short 
time was required to decide which power might arrest her 
first. 


For until Azrael, the Angel of Death should roll up his 
parchment writ and cry her acquitted, none might enter the 
circle which His shadow cast over her, to lay hand of human 
vengeance upon her. 

A declaration was written by Doctor Graves, and signed 


BEAUTIFUL 1UENZI. 


103 


by another physician who was called in, to the effect that 
Miss Rienzi could not without loss of life be removed from 
her room at present; and since nothing else could be done, 
the writ was served upon her where she lay, and men were 
stationed in the house to take charge of the prisoner until 
she could, be examined. 

A constable kept guard at my sister’s door, and watched 
that no weapons or means of escape were carried in to the 
accused; two more kept watch at the entrance door and the 
area gate, lest the family or the domestics should attempt 
some desperate treason, and they paced up and down the 
little garden, peering at every window, staring iii the 
faces of those who passed to and from the house; pry- 
ing into the household arrangements, bullying the servants, 
joking over the gate with their passing comrades, smok- 
ing their nauseous tobacco, and making the best of their 
grim job. 

Three days passed before my sister summoned strength 
enough to speak; each feeble breath indrawn seemed des- 
tined as a last; a film as frail as the night-fleece of a frost 
which melts in the morning sun, was between her soul and 
its home, a whisper in her ear might turn the balance trem- 
bling down into eternity. 

On the fourth day she rallied; the feeble life threw up 
a brighter flame, and hope looked in at our shadowy 
door. 

She was able to murmur our names, to lift her hollow eyes 
to mine in love, to faintly press the hand which gently 
pressed the lissome palm. She might live! 

I welcomed my dear Isolina from the trance of death, 
with anxious fears and sorrow. 

One evening, my friend, Miss Belle Cranstown came in, 
pale with sympathy and horror. 

She had just arrived from the country, and heard of our 
misfortunes, and her tender heart was bursting with indig- 
nation at our sufferings. 

“ My poor dear,” she sobbed, “it is too dreadful! can’t 
these brutal men be sent away? Shame on the people that 
they don’t mob them! It’s too shameful this, for a Chris- 
tian city!” 

“ We don't feel it so much now,” I said, gently; “and 
they can’t hurt us — yet.” 


104 


BEAUTIFUL R1ENZI. 


She only wept the more violently at my resignation, and 
wrung her hands. 

“Don’t say so!” she cried; “how dare they suspect our 
good, pure Isolina Kienzi? Oh, I could swear to her inno- 
cence before a hundred courts.” 

I was melted to tears by my friend’s generous distress, 
and I poured out my crushed and sorrowful heart to her in 
a relation of all that led me to find my sister, and the sub- 
sequent events. Then remembering mv desire to win from 
her some information concerning Isolina’s life at Saratoga 
the preceding summer, I asked her if she would answer a 
few questions. She readily complied. 

“ You were with my sister at Saratoga all the time she 
was there?” 

“ Yes.” 

“Are you aware of any gentleman meeting her there 
whose name had the initials ‘I. J. ?” 

After a protracted pause, Miss Cranstown shook her 
head. 

“ Can you remember where my sister was, and what she 
did on the sixteenth day of July? Oh, try to remember!” 

Again my friend pondered deeply, and at last looked up. 

“Yes, lean tell you exactly,” she said; “poor Isolina 
was taken with a very severe headache, and I nursed her 
all day at the cottage, while mamma and the other girls 
went down to the city shopping. She was on the sofa in 
Mrs. Halcombe’s front parlor all day, and she slept with me 
at night.” 

“Strange!” I mused; “what signification has the date on 
that ring then? 

“Will you allow me to show you a picture?” I continued, 
rising; “I wish to know if you ever saw a certain face and 
scene.” 

I went to my father’s room, and procured the paint- 
ing from his cabinet, which, returning, I handed to my 
friend. 

“Victor Joselyn!” she cried, in a tone of astonishment; 
“and what a miraculous likeness!” 

I removed the picture from her hands, and placed it face 
downward on the table. 

“You will easily understand,” I said, gravely, “how 
anxious we are to find out every step of her past life, that 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


105 


we may save her from this last, worst danger. So ho, then, 
my friend is Victor Joselyn?” 

“ I will answer you carefully,” said Belle Cranstown; “ but 
I cannot tell you much. Mr. Joselyn is an English gentle- 
man. who came to Saratoga about the time we did, accom- 
panied by an elderly physician of the name of Dr. Pember- 
ton. These gentlemen were introduced to our party, and 
became the most intimate friends we had; but if Isolina was 
a particular favorite of either of them it was of the doctor, 
who was an old bachelor. Young Mr. Joselyn, as far as I 
can judge, paid no attention to any of our party. After some 
time they left Saratoga, and we all remarked that Isolina 
wore a ring which she had not worn before. My sister Louisa 
rallied her on the subject, and this was her answer: ‘ Mr. 
Joselyn has a wife already — I hope you don’t expect him to 
be looking for another?’ This answer surprised none of us, 
as Air. Joselyn’s conduct had not been such as to warrant 
any remarks. Judge then of my surprise to see that picture! 
It is a spot in the field behind Mrs. Halcombe’s cottage, 
where a path ran down to a beautiful stream, and undoubt- 
edly the man who acts the part of a lover is Mr. Victor 
Joselyn^ as undoubtedly the lady’s face is Isolina’s! There 
is some mystery, Iva, which, trust me, I do not think will 
reflect upon either your sister’s or the gentleman’s honor. 
Believe that, Iva!” 

“Thank you,” I murmured; “you knew my sister well.” 

AYe both were silent, thinking. 

“ Dr. Pemberton!” I mused; “where have I heard that 
name before?” Then memory took up the chain of thought 
and slowly traced it back to that fatal night on which Cecil 
Beaumont had snatched my sister’s letter out of my hand 
and read the address, of which I had heard the syllables, 
“Dr. Pem ” 

Was this the secret correspondent to whom Isolina sent 
her letters when in distress? Then memory went backward 
again and reproduced that letter on which the bright gas- 
light had rested, showing me a lady’s name. 

“ Mrs. Victor- Joselyn!” 

Then I recalled my sister’s words — her tears, and her 
agonv, with a strange chill pervading my heart. 

“ She was connected with a friend of mine. She is dead !” 

Oh! what dark thoughts were rising in my heart: Do 
you know the Satan-born pangs of the first doubt in one 


106 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


you love? That painted story of given and accepted love — 
a wife in another land — that wife’s death? 

Away with this ungenerous fear! She was pure, my own 
sweet, darling sister! This could not be the secret curse! 

I told all to my friend; and she solemnly declared her be- 
lief in Isolina’s perfect innocence, whatever appearance went 
against her. Such faith kept my heart from sinking utterly. 

When my friend went away, I wrote down all that she had 
told me, and then — with what poor success! — I tried to map 
out my sister’s life. It was an ellipsis — wild, incoherent; a 
riddle; a paradox; it seemed to give the lie to her pure char- 
acter! 

Loathing my involuntary thought I flung it away, and 
preferred impenetrable mystery, until Heaven should send 
us light. 

At last the authorities announced that Miss Kienzi must 
be ready for them, by a certain day; and good Dr. Graves 
applied all his skill to strengthen her for the approaching 
ordeal; and so well did he succeed that she was able to leave 
her bed, and sit — poor shadow!— in an invalid chair, two 
days before the time specified. Then the doctor — I do not 
knowhow — prepared her mind for what was coming; and so 
well and delicately did he fulfill the task that when I was 
permitted to join her she looked as calm and serene as ever, 
and even uplifted, if one could dare to trace such earthly 
emotions in a face which seemed etherealized until it was 
like a spirit’s. 

But the day arrived in which she passed from her cham- 
ber doors, leaning on the doctor’s arm, and half carried by 
my father, to where a carriage waited at the gate, sur- 
rounded by a curious crowd, all anxious to see a woman 
accused of murder take her first march on the road to the 
gallows. 

I see her patient eyes raised to my father, and then aloft, 
to a stronger Father, whose arms cannot tremble as his 
does! She smile a pale, pure smile, like that brave Minerva, 
who ever leans upon a spear, and she meekly meets the 
eager, gloating eyes of the mob. Then the carriage is 
whirled away, and I stand alone with my grief and my dark, 
questioning heart. 

About evening my father came home alone! She had 
been indicted to stand her trial for murder, and iioav was 
lodged in prison, where she must take her chance of life in 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


107 


a close, cramped cell, whose iron bars were even stronger 
than Doctor Oaks’. Change of scefie and air had been 
deemed necessary for her recovery. Here was change of 
scene and air! Here were quiet and rest and soothing com- 
panionship! 

The trial was appointed to take place on the last day of 
May, and lor the limited time before us my father strained 
every nerve to help the counsel who had been employed to 
defend his daughter in gathering what facts they could re- 
lating to the murder. It was a discouraging task, from the 
utter absence of friendly witnesses, or even an explanation 
from the prisoner as data to go upon. They had to work 
on, almost without a foothold for defense, and with the 
most telling testimony against them. And through it all, 
my sister kept inpenetrable silence on the subject, nor com- 
mitted herself in the slightest to the astute and searching 
lawyer, who daily visited her. The firmness which she 
displayed, united to extreme bodily weakness, was amazing. 

I need hardly say that I was with my sister every avail- 
able hour in her cell to comfort and cheer her. She was 
very quiet and gentle, and seemed to like me to be there; 
but that peculiar look of resignation, touched with thank- 
fulness, which I had seen in her face when first she heard 
she was arrested, still lingered there, as if she wanted to be 
sacrificed. 

Once only she spoke of what was coming — one day when 
we were alone, and I had been wistfully seeking her confi- 
dence. 

“Better for us all if I perish,” she said. “I would 
rather die; but, little Ivaniila, if I go — remember, I shall tell 
you why!” 

Her weak hand pressing mine, her hollow eyes shedding 
looks of love upon me, made this promise strangely solemn 
to me. 

It was while affairs were at this crisis that we received a 
telegram from my mother, announcing that she was at Hali- 
fax, and would be home in two days. 


108 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WHAT I SAW, OR SEEMED TO SEE. 

“ Are ye aware that he who comes behind 
Moves what he touches? The feet of the dead 
Are not so wont!” — Dante. 

Three days before the trial, the English steamer arrived, 
with my mother on board. 

She came sweeping up through the evening mists of the 
river and under the myriad stars. There was no moon, 
and the night was dark, as my father and I drove down to 
meet her at the wharf. I heard the loud snorting of the 
escaping steam and the rattling of the chains, as we drove 
down behind a stream of cabs aud hacks thither bound for 
bewildered travelers. We stepped a little to one side, under 
a great fiery signal lamp, and my father went on board 
among the throng, leaving me sitting in the carriage wait- 
ing. 

This scene is indelibly impressed upon my memory. 

At first I regarded all this shifting panorama in the mass; 
then individually; gradually with concentrated interest. 
At first my eyes swept round the area, watching general 
effects, and ending off with the object nearest me — a 
man who leaned against the lamp-post. Anon, with a leap 
of the startled heart, I confined my distended eyes to the 
figure nearest me, standing, as I have said, beneath the sig- 
nal lamp, and consequently in the very deepest shadow. 

A cab, with flashing lights had rumbled past with its 
occupants — a happy, reunited family to judge by the ba- 
bel of happy voices, and looking incidentally at the somber 
lounger, one gleam of yellow light from the passing cab 
had fallen on a face well known. 

Heavens! how I had thrilled at the prophetic woe of 
these red-brown eyes. Had I not pictured that protean 
face, white and set? Ah, had I not mourned on a grave 
which held those shattered limbs? 

A wild prayer rose in my heart; a blazing light shot up 
like a rocket in my veins; I steadily eyed the figure, now in 
the murky shadow once more. I shook the wiudows and 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


109 


beckoned, but had no voice to call; then I sank back, and 
leaning my head on mv hands gazed wildly forth again. 

It was dressed in a military cloak, a cap with a golden 
band on its head, a sword trailing. Its hand, which was 
gloveless and seemed bones, covered with glistening skin, 
hung down listlessly, its head drooped forward on its breast. 

“Cecil!” I called, huskily, as in a dream; the sound 
reached him, for he raised his head, and I knew that the 
face in the dark was looking at me. 

Suddenly the carriage moved off; I was dashed back on 
the seat, and Nelson drove rapidly down to the first gang- 
way. 

I clenched my hands together. Why had Fate stepped in 
and dashed so strange a sight from my eyes? And then, 
almost instantly, incredulity attacked me. Could this in- 
deed have been the murdered man? Surely fancy had 
tricked me with a grotesque coincidence. I tore my thoughts 
from so mad a fantasy and shook off the delirious impres- 
sion. 

My mother was approaching the carriage door, leaning 
on her happy husband’s arm, and her eyes were directed in 
an eager gaze toward me, and the joy of seeing her swept 
away every other feeling, as I sprang into her arms. 

‘ • My child!” muttered the sweet, low voice of my infancy; 
“thank Heaven that you are still left to us.” 

“ Welcome, dearest mother,” I sobbed; “welcome to our 
hearts!” 

I clung to her sheltering bosom, and wept my lonely, 
tired heart light; for, ah, it was so sweet to see, after these 
long months of pain, the dear mother herself. 

But I quickly recovered myself, and, ashamed of my self- 
abandonment, hurried her into the carriage, where we could 
pour forth our mental emotions. 

It was a sweet, tender face, my mother’s, with no regular- 
ity of outline, but great delicacy of complexion, and that 
peculiar attractiveness and self-possession of style which 
makes the American woman second to the women of no 
other land in expression; her brows level and slight, but 
gracious; her lips fine in contour, though expressive of 
quiet firmness, and her eyes — ah, these were the beauties of 
her face, and bright as in her fresher years; they were 
large, blue eyes, clear as a transparent stream, and very like 


no 


Beautiful rienzi. 


my sister’s — though, thank Heaven, there were no tragedy- 
depths in them as yet, in the mother’s. 

My father and Nelson had been securing the luggage; now 
all was arranged, and we set off. 

“ Home at last!” said my father, holding my mother’s 
hand in a close clasp, “ and though there are many changes, 
we may all be happy under the same roof yet!” 

“This is all one little family,” responded my mother, 
drawing me to her bosom with a quick sob; “oh, Guiseppe, 
this is a cruel change!” 

She had not heard yet that Isolina had been brought back 
to her home; or that she lay now in the Tombs charged v ith 
murder. Poor mother, she was coming home to sorrow! 

But even in her fond, encircling arms, I raised my head 
from her bosom as we passed the signal-lamp, and gazed 
out with straining eyes. No muffled figure lurked there 
now; whatever it was, it had vanished, and my vision, true 
or false, was past. 

Farther up the wharf I saw. a group of men in military 
cloaks, and they also looked mysterious in the semi-gloom. 

“Father,” I asked, breaking in upon his conversation, 
“what are these?” 

“ Our brave soldiers, child; a detachment, I heard, was 
to leave the city to-night. Hah! there’s young Ansehn, who 
commands the company. There’s more than one will be 
missed from our circle this summer, I fancy.” 

I looked attentively at Ansehn; his face was pale, and his 
hand, which daintily held a cigar, was long and white, and 
his gold-banded cap and trailing sword were not unlike. 

Pshaw, had I suffered such agitations for him? 

Probably Mr. Ansehn, who was quite a petit-maitre in his 
way, tired of smoking cigars (no, he was not tired of that 
yet), tired of staring at the arrivals, had been much diverted 
at the young lady’s attempts to improvise a flirtation. 

“ Fortunately,” I thought, “he could not have recognized 
me under my silken vail; I might have thought of my vail 
before.” 

I flung myself back upon my mother’s bosom, and thought 
only of her. 

“ You are looking pale and thin, my child,” said she, 
scanning my face tenderly; “our child looks ill, Guiseppe; 
I miss the dusky roses, and the merrily glancing eyes of lit- 
tle Zingarella; I am afraid ” 


BE A UTIFUL RIENZI. 


Ill 


She stopped and looked at my father in turn with mourn- 
ful, terrified gaze: 

“Oh, husband!” she cried, bursting into tears, “you are 
more changed than she. There was not a white hair on your 
head when I left you a year ago, and now you're an old man! 
Oh, Guiseppe, my dear love, why did you let them keep me 
from you so long?” 

And there was the greatest change of all to come. Oh, 
poor mother-heart, keep strong for love of us! 

As soon as we had brought her home, and waited on all 
her wants like fond, devoted slaves, my father led her to a 
private room, and told her all. What she suffered, I never 
knew; courageous, brave, and unselfish, she kept her anguish 
to herself and comforted him; her sweet face was pale, but 
not mournful, when they joined me and she infused a 
warmth of sunshine into my heart, sweet to feel, whatever 
she suffered herself. 

Hope decks the pillow with lotus-wreaths and for the first 
night in months I slumbered sweetly. The dark cloud was 
vast as ever, but I seemed to see an edge of golden bright- 
ness curling the gloomy scroll. 

But while I dressed in the sunny morning's rays with the 
realistic sense of things as they are, and not as they appeared 
to be — which a calm night's rest and broad daylight are 
sure to bring, the mysterious apparition of the past evening 
presented itself to my imagination with a sudden and over- 
powering vividness, which smote me into stillness in the 
midst of my dressing, that I might revise once more that 
brief moment of recognition. 

Could it indeed have been a trick of fancy? 

“No,” whispered intuition vehemently; “ be cheated by 
no'unbelief. You saw him!” 

So powerful was this conviction that I no longer felt 
ashamed of my credulity, but determined to mention the 
circumstance to my father, that he might sift the matter. 

In this state of mind I went down stairs. It was early, 
but my mother was already up, and sitting by her open 
window. 

Her hand was supporting her cheek, she was in deep rev- 
erie and did not hear me enter. I was grieved to see that 
her beautiful eyes were dark and iris-circled, as if she had 
slept but little. 

“ Mother dear,” I murmured, crouching by her knee. 


112 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


She fondly kissed me, and surveyed me with a long, lov- 
ing scrutiny. 

“ You are a winsome sight to a mother’s eyes,” she said; 
“ keep that smile, and these bright, brave eyes, and I'll 
always love to look at I vanilla.” 

It was to my mother that first I confided the strange ap- 
pearance which I beheld on the wharf. 

She listened— and she might well be excused for it — as 
if I were crazed; but she did not attempt to combat my 
improbable belief. She pondered over the incident a long 
time, then she rose with a sigh, and stood looking at me 
with troubled eyes. 

“ I scarcely like to speak of what may have no existence,” 
she said; “ but I have a strong impression that some strange 
plot has been formed to ruin the happiness of the family, 
beginning, first of all, by ruining Isolina. If young Beau- 
mont were really alive, it seems very much like a concerted 
plot to cheat the authorities into condemning your sister as 
a criminal. This shall certainly be told your father and Mr. 
Speingle, and the affair sifted to the bottom. And mean- 
time, my child, lay down the case which has been on your 
shoulders, and leave it to us who are able to cope with it — 
be it your duty to soothe the.unknown sorrows of your hap- 
less sister, and we will do the rest. 

“Mamma, what enemy have we — who would seek to 
harm us?” 

“ I do not know, Ivanilla.” 


CHAPTER XV. 

ON TRIAL. 

“ Are you called forth from out a world of men 
To slay the innocent? What is my offense? 

Where is the evidence that does accuse me?” 

Kino Richard III. 

Carefully as my mother had been prepared, it was a seri- 
ous shock to her to meet Isolina. The ravages of grief and 
illness were great to me— they were stupefying to one who 
had not seen her since the days of her girlish loveliness and 
exuberant charms. Yet she betrayed little of her feelings to 
the weak invalid, but concealed them with the heroism which 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


113 


a mother can exhibit so nobly, and chose to act the part of 
comforter and nurse to the world-weary girl whose heart 
ached with a load which — ah, Heaven only estimated at its 
true weight! My attention was strongly arrested by the 
eager, intense look with which Isolina watched my mother 
during the first day of her arrival. 

I could not trace that strange constraint with which she 
treated my father in her bearing toward mamma; but yet 
her manner was unaccountable. There was a gentle submis- 
siveness and an humble affection, which blended with every 
look and feeble tone, as if an unforgiven wrong toward that 
gentle mother was burdening her soul. 

But after a time all lesser interests were forgotten, and 
the day of her trial approached. It was extremely doubtful 
if she would stand the ordeal. Dr. Graves looked every 
letter of his name, but did his duty unceasingly, and visited 
the prison twice a day. My mother staid in the cell until 
the latest hour that visitors were allowed; my father almost 
lived in Mr. Speingle’s law office. From his anxious face, 
when he came home to his hasty meals, I feared that the case 
was getting on slowly. As for me, these three days were alter- 
nations between despair and hope, and I was in a state of 
intermittent anxiety, painful to myself, and, I fear, intoler- 
able to others. 

On the evening before the dreaded day, Miss Cranstown 
came running in to see me, and to comfort me if she 
could. 

She brought news which at another period would have 
caused me much sincere regret; but in my present mood, 
scarcely attracted my attention at the time. 

“ The fate of poor young Rosecraft has been ascertained 
almost to a certainty,” she said. “ He was traced on board 
the cars which ran off the track ten miles from New York 
on the twenty-ninth of November, and though the body 
never was found, undoubtedly he perished in the debris, as 
he was in a weak and disabled state. Mrs. Harrison must 
be cared for. She has a beautiful little child, two weeks 
old, and we must keep the melancholy news from her until 
she is stronger.” 

These tidings did not impress me at the time; but after 
my friend left they occurred to me, and, I know not how, 
.aroused my keen interest, I contemplated the affair in all 


114 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


its bearings, and all things considered, determined to tell 
my father that night. 

I did so, and was not surprised to find that the incidents 
connected with the disappearance aroused his most intense 
interest. He questioned me closely; and, late as it was, it 
being then about nine o’clock, hurried off to catch Mr. 
Speingle before he should leave his office. 

The last of May dawned softly, with rose-clouds of filmy 
transparency; and as I, with restless soul, watched at my 
casements, I hoped that even as this day had risen, so might 
the innocent be raised from her night of sorrow. 

My mother and I were early at the prison, and with ten- 
der care I arrayed my poor sister for her first appearance as 
“ prisoner at the bar.” She was very quiet and passionless 
and seemed to look forward with no terror to her danger. 

Doctor Graves arrived at ten o’clock and carefully exam- 
ined his patient's capabilities. He said that she was stronger 
to-day, and “ If she is kept quiet she will stand a trial, but 
if it goes against her — she's gone!” 

Rather a doubtful situation for an invalid to be in! 

At eleven o’clock, a cab arrived to convey the prisoner to 
the court, and almost at the same moment my father dashed 
up to the prison and entered the cell. 

There was an expression almost of exultation on his face, 
which was nevertheless looking very care-worn with the re- 
cent labor he had been undergoing; and after fondly em- 
bracing Isolina and wdiispering a word or two of encourage- 
ment, he turned to me and drew me into a corner. 

“Remember,” he said, “to answer plainly whatever 
questions may be put to you by Isolina’s counsel. You will 
be called as a witness; keep all your presence of mind about 
you.” - 

He gave me a few more instructions, which I anxiously 
listened to, and did my best to profit by. 

The court was crammed; there was a dull hum of whis- 
pering voices, which subsided all at once as the judge and 
the jurymen entered and took their seats with all the 
“pomp and circumstance ” of office. 

The trial of Isolina Rienzi was the first case called. 

There was a movement among the crowd, a straining of 
eyes, and rising from their seats as the accused walked 
slowly up between the officers, Doqtoi* Graves closely fol- 


BE A tlTlFUL RIENZL U5 

lowing, with a grim, professional face, which expressed vol- 
umes of disapprobation. 

With a meek glance upon the ground, and secret hectic 
tinging all her veins, my sister, too lovely for the eye of 
scorn, was led up through the throng, and given a seat be- 
side her counsel. 

The trial commenced. The counsel for the prisoner and 
on behalf of the State, unrolled their briefs, with glances of 
quiet antagonism at each other. Anxiously, I read the face 
of the opposing lawyer, and strove to make an estimation of 
his capabilities. Mr. Speingle was an eminent lawyer, and 
had thrown the whole of his talent and interest into my 
sister’s case. 

The indictment was read, proceedings were speedily 
under way, and I sat with my hand tight clasped in my 
mother’s, a breathless and anxious spectator. 

At last witness number one, for the prosecution, was 
called, and a lady clothed in black came forward from a 
conspicuous seat, and placed herself in the witness-box, 
bowing with the air of an empress to the officer who held 
open the door. 

She raised her crape vail, erected herself, and glanced 
haughtily round, and I looked with wonder on the face of 
Lillia Meredith, yet so different from the simple and timid 
girl I had seen her, that I could not at first assure myself 
it was she. Her figure seemed expanded and was taller, 
fuller, and more assertive; her face, which had been re- 
sponsive to every simple emotion, was hardened into a 
scornful look of determination; her large blue eyes seemed 
unpleasantly bright, and too much like the cold, glittering 
sparkles of a glacier. There was plenty of health, with head- 
strong spirit, to support all this show of resolution; care 
had not blanched or thinned her cheek; sorrow had not 
crept into her eyes. It was a heartless, selfish soul that 
looked out of those bold, handsome eyes upon my sister, 
drooping hehind the prisoners bar. 

She deposed that Isolina ltienzi had left the hall of the 
Cybelle Society at ten o’clock on the night of the twenty- 
ninth of November, in company with Mr. Cecil Beaumont, 
and left a message for Mr. Eienzi that she had gone home 
in a sleigh. That she had not gone home, but had driven 
straight on with Mr. Beaumont, and had not been heard of 
since, until her friends found her in a private asylum for 


116 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


insane females. That Miss Rienzi was not insane, and 
would give no reason why she was there. That the fact was 
proved that Miss Rienzi had been with Cecil Beaumont at 
the moment of his death, as they had been seen together by 
a witness who was present, five minutes or so before the ac- 
cident. That she, the deponent, had reason to believe 
there was an animus in the prisoner’s mind against Cecil 
Beaumont as he had displeased her on the evening of his 
death.” 

As she left the witness box, my unhappy sister turned 
and looked on her with such a long, sorrowful gaze, that 
the hard girl flushed to the brows, and quailed, despite her 
bold arrogance. 

Mr. Bently, the counsel for the State, then went on with 
the facts of the case where Miss Meredith left off. 

He said that on the night of the 29th of November, the 
body of Cecil Beaumont had been found, partly in and partly 
out "of a half-frozen brook, just beneath a wooden bridge 
over which he had been pushed, as had been proved by the 
appearance of the bridge. The railing had been partly 
broken down, and being old and decayed, had given way be- 
fore the weight of the body which had been dashed against 
it; furthermore, one panel of said railing had been found 
beneath the body of the deceased, thus proving clearly that 
he had been pushed over advisably, and with intent to kill 
him. A lady’s lace sleeve had been found clenched in the 
hand of the deceased; also, drifted down some distance from 
the body, a lady’s handkerchief, on which was written Miss 
Rienzi’s name. 

Both the sleeve and the handkerchief were produced. 
The handkerchief I recognized — the bare sleeve I had never 
seen; it was not like what my sister had worn on the 
night of the concert; I rapidly whispered to my father; 
he communicated to Mr. Speingle, who nodded two or three 
times. 

“ The body,” resumed Mr. Bently, “was discovered by 
an itinerant salesman, who was now present, and would be 
shortly called upon to give his testimony — who, upon dis- 
covering it, instantly ran to the nearest house for aid, and 
brought back with him a man, who assisted him to carry the 
body up to the house. This house happened to be Mrs. 
Beaumont’s, the mother of the unfortunate young man, 
who dispatched him at once to the nearest magistrate for a 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 117 

warrant to search for the person who had caused her son’s 
death. 

Here Obed Walsh was called, and duly sworn. 

Obed Walsh was a short, muscular fellow, with profusely 
tanned cheeks, restless, light-colored eyes, and lank hair, 
which fell like whithered grass over his forehead and 
ears. Those ears, disdaining the hirsute covering, cropped 
out like two leathery bat wings, large, upright, and 
eager, joining a strangely alert expression to the rough, 
shock head. 

Being launched by the judicious promptings of Bently, 
he deposed that, on the night of the 29th of November, he 

was walking on the Road, about nine miles from the 

city, trying to r^ach Greely’s Mills before the public-house 
folks would all b^n bed. At a few minutes before twelve 
he was overtaken by a sleigh, which, as he stood aside to 
allow it to pass, he saw contained a lady and gentleman. 
They were talking so closely that they did not notice him, 
and the horse was rushing on of itself, for the reins were 
loosely slung over the gentleman’s arm. Just as they passed 
him, the lady threw up her arms and cried, “Yes! I was 
born to be your curse, and this night will prove it!” The 
gentleman caught her hands, but she snatched them away 
and cried more fiercely, “Wait — wait! You won’t seek to 
touch me in half an hour!” 

With these ominous words the pair got beyond hearing. 
The peddler tvalked on for some fifteen minutes until he 
came to the top of the hill leading down to Greely’s Mills, 
when he heard a strange rumbling noise, coming from the 
wooden bridge, in the bottom of the valley, as he thought; 
it was like the rattling of stones and the crashing of wood, 
then there was a dull explosion that shook the ground. He 
began to run down the hill, for he did not know whether it 
was before or after him, and he wanted to get straight into 
Hanover’s public house, out of harm’s way. 

It took him a good while to get to the bridge, which he 
was just crossing, when he noticed part of the rail broken 
away, and the snow disturbed in a very curious manner, as 
if there had been a struggle. He looked over the brink, 
and was sure he saw something like a man lying among the 
rocks and water in the brook. He ran down, and found 
that the gentleman whom he had seen twenty minutes be- 
fore, still warm. He dragged the body out of the water. 


118 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZt 


and ran across the fields to a house which he saw half a mile 
or less, distant. When he was about fifty rods from the 
house, he saw a man running toward him whom he stopped, 
and told what he had seen. 

“ Where?” said the man. 

“ Come on, and I’ll show you,” said the peddler; “and 
the young girl as did it, I’m afraid, has cleared.” 

‘ ‘ Was there a young girl?” he asked, startled like. 

Then the peddler told him what he had heard as the 
sleigh passed him. They ran on, until they reached the 
place, and scrambled down the rocks together. No sooner 
had the new-comer looked at the face of the body, than he 
cried: 

“ By Heaven! it’s just as I thought. «#’s young Master 
Cecil!” 

Then he said that he was a servant that belonged to the 
young gentleman’s mother, and she lived in the house 
across the field. So they made a bier of hurdles, and car- 
ried the body up to the doorstep, where the servant left it, 
while he went to prepare the mother. Pretty soon he came 
out and helped the peddler in with • the body, to a parlor 
where it was put on a sofa, and a lady came in and flung 
herself on the floor beside it. 

The peddler went into the kitchen with the servant and 
they staid there about an hour, until Mrs. Beaumont came 
out and called the servant, and they talked together a long 
time, and then the servant came back, and asked the ped- 
dler if he would go to a magistrate who was about two 
miles distant, and make his deposition, and get men set 
on the tracks of the murderess. He got a sovereign from 
the servant, and set off though it was about one o'clock 
then. 

Cross-examined by Mr. Speingle: 

“ You heard a strange rumbling noise, like the rattling 
of stones and the crashing of wood, followed by a dull ex- 
plosion that shook the ground. Was this noise, in your 
opinion, caused by the young lady pushing the deceased 
over the bridge?” 

The witness looked at the counsel for the State. 

“ Look at me, if you please, and answer my questions 
honestly.” 

“I’m not sure that it was.” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


119 


“ Did you hear of any other cause for such a peculiar 
sound?” 

“ Yes, sir; the night train from ran off the track on 

account of the snow, just above Greeiy’s Mills, and the 
engine boiler burst. I heard all about it, and saw it on my 
way to the magistrate’s.” 

“ Very good. Now Mr. Walsh describe in what manner 
the body of the deceased was injured.” 

“ I couldn’t exactly say. It were dead enough though, 
for the face was as white as cotton, and the breath gone. ” 

“ The face, Walsh? the face, did you say?” repeated Mr. 
Speingle, slowly. 

There was an audible murmur in the breathless crowd; 
two or three men half rose up and sat down again. 

•‘The face was as white as cotton,” persisted Walsh, 
stolidly, having tried to catch Mr. Bently’s eyes and 
failed; that gentleman keeping an impenetrable and con- 
temptuous neutrality during what he appeared to consider 
Mr. Speingle's trifling. “Except,” added Walsh, “where a 
lot of blood crossed it from one temple.” 

“ Stand down for the present, Mr. Walsh,” said the 
counsel for the prisoner. “If any of the jurymen who 
viewed the body of Cecil Beaumont are in this court, let 
them come forward,” he uttered in a loud voice. 

Three men elbowed themselves eagerly forward. Mr. 
Speingle pointed to one of them. 

“I want that man to describe the appearance of the body 
upon which the inquest was held at Mrs. Beaumont’s 
house.” 

The man was sworn. 

“ You viewed the body of course before you gave a ver- 
dict. Describe the face if you please.” 

“ There weren’t no face at all,” said the man, a bluff coun- 
tryman; “he were smashed to pieces he were, and the 
clothes was all that held him together.” 

Here a slight interruption occurred. Doctor Graves who 
sat close behind the prisoner raised his hand and enjoined 
silence: he then sent an officer to whisper something to the 
judge, and the prisoner was supported out of the court in a 
half-fainting condition. 

“ My mother rose and quietly followed her to a small 
antechamber, and the proceedings went on. 

“ What sort of clothes were on the body?” 


120 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ An evening dress such as the swells wear.” 

“Were they much saturated with blood?” 

“ Not so much as you would think, considering the 
mangling it had got; and I’m sure it’s wonderful how a 
man could have been turned, and twisted, and battered the. 
way he was, by falling over a gully like Crag’s Brook, and 
so said we all — which showed clearly ” 

“ Stick to the subject,” said Mr. Bently, impatiently. 

“ Which showed clearly,” repeated the ex-juryman, “ that 
she must have pushed him mighty hard, and thrown rocks 
or something after him.” 

Mr. Bently smiled maliciously. 

“ Then there were loose rocks on the bridge and round 
the body?” questioned Mr. Speingle with much interest. 

“Not as I saw!” said the countryman, scratching his 
head. “ I was there the next day too, and looked all 
around.” 

It was Mr. Speingle’stime to smile enjoyablv. 

“ Then that supposition is improbable, and we dismiss 
it with the natural question — f How could a young lady ex- 
cavate rocks out of frozen ground to hurl over a bridge, and 
leave no trace?’ Witness, you may go. Now, gentlemen 
of the jury, bear in mind, the body which Walsh helped to 
pick up from under the bridge had a white face, streaked 
with blood; the body upon which was held an inquest next 
day, ‘ had no face at all,’ was held together by the clothes, 
yet these clothes were not stained with blood to the extent 
that so many wounds warranted. Miss Ivanilla Rienzi, 
come forward.” 

Some one led me to the witness-stand; for one instant 
my senses whirled, until my father came forward and 
stood near me; then I was calm, and recovered from my 
terror. 

With a feeling of deep solemnity, I took the oath. 

“Are you a Soldiers’ Friend?” began Mr. Speingle, 
gently. 

“ I am.” 

“Did you on the fifth of April visit a sick soldier in Jer- 
sey City, by name Charles Harrison?” 

“I did.” 

“ Relate the subject of your interview.” 

“ He was very anxious to see his brother-in-law, a young 
man named Leauder Rosecraft, who had disappeared since 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


121 


the end of November; and Harrison gave me a letter which 
he had written and his photograph, to assist our society in 
finding him.” 

“ Did your society search for him?” 

“ Yes.” 

“With what success?” 

“ He was traced to the cars which left for New York on 
the 29th of November, and ran off the track at Greely’s 
Mills. Undoubtedly he perished in the explosion.” 

“ Is this the photograph Charles Harrison gave you?” 

A photograph was handed to me which I examined. 

“ This is the same photograph.” 

“ Is this the letter?” 

I scanned it carefully. 

“Yes,” I said again. 

“Now,” said Mr. Speingle, producing his pocket-book, 
while the most thrilling silence prevailed, “ is this a photo- 
graph of the same person, and is this strip of paper written 
by the same hand that wrote that letter? Look carefully, 
madam.” 

Again a photograph was put in my hands; it was much 
defaced and twisted, but it was a fac-simile of the original 
one; then a strip of paper was submitted to my inspection. 
It was quite clean, though the ink was somewhat dim, and 
these were the words: 

“ Leander Rosecraft, Private, Newark Road, Jersey City.” 

On the other side was printed: 

“ C. C., No. 4827. To be worn round the neck over the 
shirt. In battle, under. Fight the good fight of faith.” 

It was an “ identifier,” given by a certain benevolent 
association of Christian men, to enable them to trace dead 
soldiers, and send their effects to their friends. In bewil- 
dered surprise I deposed to the genuineness of both these 
articles, and returned them. 

“This photograph, and this ‘identifier/ ” said Mr. Speingle, 
and his voice rose clear and loud in the breathless silence, 
“was found in a lead box hung around the neck, and under 
the shirt of the body which is buried in Cecil Beaumont’s 
grave. Considering all that has transpired concerning this 
strange body, which one says was mutilated and another 
says was not, may we not venture to say that Leander Rose- 
craft, the missing soldier, has been found ” 

But here he was compelled to pause, while the excited 


122 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


audience gave vent to their consternation. Lillia Meredith 
rose to her feet and sat down again, pale and electrified ; 
my father reached forward and wrung my hand ; the coun- 
sel for the State looked thunderstruck ; the judge sat for- 
ward with his hands on his knees; the jurymen conferred 
in rasping and hasty whispers; Mr. Speingle waited phleg- 
matically for silence though there was a deep excitement in 
his eyes. 

“ Silence!” shouted the clerk. 

A rapid hush fell on the convulsed throng — they were 
afraid to lose one word. 

“ May we not venture to say that the missing soldier has 
been found where Cecil Beaumont, if dead, should be found? 
Witness, stand up.” 

I rose again and came forward. 

“ This lace sleeve was found in the dead man’s hand, 
upon whom the inquest was held in Mrs. Beaumont’s 
house. Do you recognize this sleeve as belonging to the 
prisoner?” 

I took it in my hands; it was much soiled and torn; also 
there was a considerable portion of it covered with soot, or 
smoke grime. 

“ This is not the sleeve my sister wore that night,” I 
said. 

Mr. Speingle took it from me and handed it to the jury- 
men on the bench. 

“ Gentlemen, examine it minutely,” he remarked. “Now, 
my man,” turning to Mr. Walsh, who had taken refuge 
near Bently; “ how was it you did not see that sleeve in the 
hand of the gentleman you picked it up from beneath the 
bridge?” 

“ I didn’t look for anything,” he said, sullenly. 

“You remarked on the appearance of the place, I sup- 
pose?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Confess now — wasn’t there plenty of soot and scum 
about the place, the remains of a gipsy fire, burnt sticks, 
ashes, and so on?” 

“ Nary a thing but clean snow and clean water,” said the 
peddler, grimly. 

Bently sat with a saturnine smile, eying his boots. 

“ Then,” said Mr. Speingle, addressing the jury, “ that 
sleeve cannot have been Miss Rienzi’s, cannot have been at 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


123 


Crag’s Brook, cannot have been caught by Cecil Beaumont’s 
hand in his fall over the bridge, as it is covered with smoke, 
oily dirt, and blood. On the contrary, that sleeve must 
have been in the midst of the railway accident, where the 
explosion of the engine took place. I have no doubt that 
Leander Rosecraft, when the catastrophe occurred, grasped 
the arm of the lady nearest him in the carriage, and 
brought with him a part of the dress which remained in the 
death-clutch of the poor, battered, mutilated body. I think 
we have proved, gentlemen of the jury, that Miss Rienzi did 
not commit murder on the body which was buried under the 
name of Cecil Beaumont. I propose now to show forth that 
she did not commit murder at all; that the body of the real 
Cecil Beaumont was not dead, and that Miss Rienzi has 
been foully conspired against, with intent to make the law 
punish her for a crime she did not commit. I have to 
ask a few more questions of this witness. Madam, relate 
what you saw three nights ago on the wharf, as you 
were waiting the arrival of a passenger in the English 
steamer. ” 

“ And remember, madam, you are upon your oath,” in- 
terposed Mr. Bently, getting up and facing me. 

This interruption confused me; I commenced, but so 
tremulously that a murmur rose from all parts of the house, 
as : 

“ Speak out! Can’t hear!” 

“Take time — don’t be afraid,” said the judge, mildly. 

“ You were sitting alone in your father’s carriage?” began 
Mr. Speingle. 

“And while I waited a few minutes for papa and mam- 


“Stop, stop!” cried Mr. Bently, in an irritating manner, 
“at what hour? It seems to me that you and Brother 
Speingle are making it up between you.” 

The lawyer’s insolence brought back my courage. 

“It was half-past eight when we drew up beneath the 
signal lamp,” I said, steadily, “and my father alighted and 
went on board the steamer, leaving me sitting in the car- 
riage, while the driver occupied the box.” 

“ Ah! but I thought your friend, Speingle, said you were 
alone!” 

“ Sir !” I exclaimed, flushing haughtily, “ how often 


124 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


am I to be thus rudely interrupted? Is this American 
courtesy?” 

Cries of “ No, no!” and murmurs of applause answered 
me. 

“ Order!” screamed the clerk. 

“ I was alone in the carriage, the coachman outside on 
the box, when from the window I saw a man standing be- 
neath the signal-lamp I have before mentioned; a cab 
passed, throwing a bright light on his face, and I distinctly 
recognized Mr. Beaumont.” 

Dead silence followed this announcement, and even 
Lawyer Bently gazed into my face, speechless with surprise 
and incredulity. 

“I was too much startled at first to accost him,” I con- 
tinued in the unbroken hush, my voice low and even; 
“and while I was shaking the carriage window, to lower it 
and attract his attention, the coachman, who of course, 
was not cognizant of my wishes, saw his master and mis- 
tress at a little distance, and drove down to them, and thus 
I lost sight of him.” 

“ And you,” Mr. Bently laughed satirically, “ you tell 
this story on your oath — your irrevocable, sacred oath, be- 
fore Heaven and on that most Holy Bible?” 

“ I do.” 

“ So improbable! Why did you not put the person in 
custody?” 

“ I did not even think of what I could do. I was too 
agitated to do anything; I could not raise my voice to 
speak.” 

“ As men of common sense,” interposed Mr. Speingle, 
quietly, I ask the gentlemen of the jury if it would be 
natural for a young lady to descend from her carriage and 
look about for a constable on a crowded wharf, upon sud- 
denly beholding the bodily apparition of a man whom she 
believed to be dead?” 

“I think not,” said a voice in the crowd. 

“ And after you recovered from your agitation did you 
make no attempt to discover your ghost? Make no in- 
quiries — no fuss whatever?” pursued the undaunted Bently. 

At this moment a messenger came in and handed a letter 
to the judge. He opened it, raised his eyebrows, read it 
rapidly, looked at the jurors, and handed it to the nearest. 
It passed from hand to hand, and seemed to occasion un- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


125 


bounded amazement ; the gentlemen on the bench were 
so engrossed they scarcely listened to the remainder of 
Bently’s cross-examination. 

“The emotions which occupied me on meeting my 
mother, who had been absent a year, banished for the first 
few minutes the impression which had been made upon 
me by seeing Cecil Beaumont, but while we repassed the 
signal-lamp, and indeed all the way up the wharf, I looked 
out of the window, hoping to see him/’ 

“And saw nothing at all like him?” 

“I did see a gentleman in the same costume whom at 
first I thought 1 might have mistaken for him; but my 
father, who knows him, sent a note to him, asking if he 
was beneath the lamp beside our carriage that night, and 
an answer was returned in the negative.” 

“Come, now — what’s the name of this gentleman?” 

“Captain Ruthven Ansehn.” 

“I would like very much if the learned gentlemen of the 
jury could see that letter.” 

“ I have the honor of gratifying the counsel for the pros- 
ecution,” said Mr. Speingle, blandly, taking a note from 
my father. 

Smiling, the judge rose and spoke : 

“ This trial has come to a very unexpected conclusion. 
A letter has been handed to me, which at once acquits Miss 
Rienzi of murder or of intent to murder, in so far as it is 
written by the supposed victim himself. I shall read the 
few words : 

“Sib: — I heard this hour that Miss Isolina Rienzi is on trial for the 
murder of Cecil Beaumont. At once acquit her; she is perfectly inno- 
cent of any wrong toward him. He was not killed in his own mad leap 
into Crag’s Brook. If this is insufficient to clear her name, the writer 
can give further proofs of the truth of his statement. Along with evi- 
dence that Ivanilla Rienzi can give, concerning what she saw at the 
Atlantic wharf, I think it is sufficient. Cecil Beaumont.” 

A ringing cheer drowned the judge’s voice; Bently rolled 
up his brief and threw it into his hat; the jurymen stamped 
their feet like boys hearing of a holiday. 

“Order!” bawled the ushers, and the trial ended in con- 
fusion. 

My sister was now summoned to appear. She came in 
this time leaning on our kind physician’s arm, and a sub- 


126 


BE A UTIFUL RIENZl 


clued sigh of sympathy swa} r ed the multitude as she stood 
once more before them, her pale face so sorrow-worn and 
meek, lifted with its saintly patience to that of the judge. 
You could have heard a fly buzzing in the most gossamer 
of cabinets, while the judge addressed the prisoner : 

“Inasmuch as it has been found that you were perfectly 
innocent of intent to injure Cecil Beaumont, and that 
he attempted self-destruction of his own free will, and 
failed ; and since it has been proved that he is alive 
and well this day and desirous of your acquittal, we do, 
without formal consideration of the question, honorably and 
utterly acquit you of the crime laid to your charge/’ 

The ecstasy trembling in the hearts of a thousand burst 
upon the air; one moment my sister’s white, seraphic face 
beamed on me a tide of joy and wonder, then she fell back 
with a low sob, into the arms of the doctor. 

And with feet which trod on air, I followed her to the 
carriage and thanked Heaven that she was saved. 


CHAPTER XYI. 

MY PHANTOM. 

“Is it gone? my pulses beat— 

What was it? a lying trick of the brain? 

Yet I thought I saw her stand 
A shadow there at my feet !” — Tennyson. 

The house was noiseless; the crescent moon smiled in at 
my half-closed window-blind, low down in the mellow sky; 
the musky, dreamy perfume of the night-blooming cereiis 
filled my room from a vase on the mantel; my sister’s faint 
cough sounded from the west room, where she peacefully 
slumbered, Sophie keeping watch; no disturbing thoughts 
harassed me; I was full of gratitude for the mercies of the 
past day; exhaustion had prepared me well for my pillow; 
the night was wearing slowly on. 

And yet I could not sleep. 

My flights of thought consumed hours, and came back to 
find me wakeful as ever. 

What had come over me? 

No sound caught my senses; not a ripple of the waves 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


127 


of air disturbed me; yet my ears began to beat and strain 
themselves to catch some movement, and they seemed to 
enlarge until my nervous system was one immense tympa- 
num. 

It came like the fall of gossamer— a murky shadow, noth- 
ing more, and it grew toward the middle of my silent 
chamber. A gentle rush of a new atmosphere enveloped 
me, which told me that my door was open. 

But how could human hand have opened it and make no 
noise? My mind reasoned distinctly, and my body lay in a 
torpor of horror. 

It came on, slowly, patiently, impalpably as an evening 
shadow creeping over sunny grass; it stole with a foot which 
might step on the golden lilies without bending their pensile 
stems, closer, closer; it loomed like a column of smoke be- 
fore me, and stopped beside my bed. 

What horror! I lay defenseless — my heart ceased to beat 
— I closed my eyes for the assassin’s blow. 

It came not, the stifling terror lifted, and I dared to look 
again. 

The warning lunar ray shone upon the face of a woman 
standing beside my table, with a long, colorless flask in her 
hand, which flashed like a bar of crystal. A tumbler of 
water, thinly diluted with sour wine, stood on the table; my 
night drink. 

It was an Italian custom, which the sultry nights now 
coming in caused me to resume. 

She raised the tumbler in her other hand, and poured 
from the flask into it a hair-like stream of liquid which fell 
soundless, then slipped the vial into her bosom, and bend- 
ing low, replaced the tumbler on the marble table, where 
the liquid it contained writhed and foamed into white for 
some moments. When the hissing sound was over she lifted 
her face to the shadowy sky, and the dreadful features 
stamped themselves into my heart; a face beautiful and 
vengeful, whitened and corpse-like with passion’s scorching 
flame. A face to remember. 

“My oath is fulfilled!” she said, in words without a voice. 
Had she spoken? or had the words passed from her soul to 
mine? She loomed once more toward me between me and 
the light, a vapor gray and deadly. She swooped close, and 
shot that terrible face into mine; I felt the lurid eyes fixed 
upon me — all feeling left the surface of my skin— I felt no 


128 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


breath, though her breath was close to mine. I gasped and 
tried to lift my spell-bound eyes, and she melted into the 
darkest shadow of the room. 

A life-time of horror was compressed into the next hour. 
I lay moveless in my bed, chained hand aud foot by terror, 
watching the gradual receding of the woman. 

She flitted from the room by invisible degrees, a long, 
ghastly hand reached forward and grasped the door, and 
held it immovable while the shrouded figure grew into the 
outer shadow. Inch by inch it closed, and I thought time 
would not last to see it touch the lock. 

In the midst of my watching, impenetrable darkness 
filled the room; the moon had gone down and the black 
hour before dawn had commenced. A double terror fell on 
me that she would return and destroy me in the dark. A 
cold moisture oozed from my brow, my limbs became para- 
lyzed, my torpor deepened into insensibility. 

When I revived the darkness had given way to bright, 
dancing sunshine; the horse-flies were noisily buzzing on 
the window. 

I raised myself and looked round. All was as I had left 
it, even to a silk vail which I had thrown upon the back of 
a chair near the door. Would not a passing form have 
brushed the light thing to the floor? My tumbler was ex- 
actly where I had placed it, within the very ring of mois- 
ture which had fallen from it last night. Could mortal 
hand have replaced it thus, with no light to guide? I be- 
gan to feel my pulse to see if I were not in some fever 
dream. 

The soothing sounds of human life were ushering in the 
morning; my mind became calm, partly because of the ex- 
haustion of my system; I insensibly fell into a deep sleep 
which was not disturbed until late in the forenoon. 

“ Dear heart alive!” said Sophie, who was bustling about 
my room, and who greeted my first stare with a courtesy, 
“but you have been sleeping soundly, Miss Iva, dear. I 
have been here fixing round for half an hour, and you never 
woke up. Do you know what time it is, miss?” 

“No,” I replied, slowly calling back my scattered senses. 

“ Half-past ten, miss. You’re late for breakfast by along 
spell, but your ma said you wasn’t to be awakened on" no ac- 
count until you slept off your weariness.” 

“Sophie, did you sit up with my sister last night?” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


129 


“Yes, miss.” 

“ All night? Had she a good night?” 

“ Yes, miss, she slept very nice and quiet, though she’s 
weak and spent like, which isn’t to he wondered at after 
yesterday. Yes, miss Iva, I sat up until six o’clock with 
Miss Isolina.” 

“ Did nothing — did anything disturb you?” 

“ No, miss; was anything ” 

“ Oh, I don’t know,” I murmured, passing my hand over 
my confused brain. “Is my father quite well?” 

“ Yes, Miss Iva, I think so.” 

“And mamma — why don’t you mention her? Is anything 
the matter with mamma? Speak, Sophie!” 

“No, miss,” said the girl, in a distressed tone. “I hope 
nothing’s the matter with you, Miss Iva — now I look, you 
don't seem well or right like.” 

“ I hope not!” I exclaimed, glancing mechanically at the 
tumbler upon the table. “Did I drink the water out of that 
glass?” 

I could scarcely speak from alarm; the tumbler was 

empty. . 

“ I don’t know. Miss Iva,” said Sophie, looking anxiously 
at me. “What iathe matter?” 

“ Was it you that emptied that tumbler, or I?” 

“ The water looked clouded and warm — I threw it away, 


miss/ 7 

“ Thank Heaven!” I exclaimed, in the first impulse of 
gratitude. But second thoughts came immediately. “I wish 
you had kept it, Sophie— it was valuable,” I cried. 

“ I am very sorry, indeed, miss, if I did wrong; was it 

medicine?” . . . . . 

“ Yes,” I said, with a hysterical laugh; “it was medicine. 
Help me to dress, Sophie; "I have a headache.” 

“ Miss I vanilla! My goodness! are you sick? Let me 
run down for your ma, or the doctor; he is with your pa in 

^With a^strong effort I mastered the weakness, and sat 
down trembling for a few minutes. . , . . . 

“ It’s nothing; it is passing away, I said; finish my 
dressing and I shall go down myself; I want Dr. Graves be- 
fore he goes away.” ...... , . , 

I regretted exceedingly that the tumbler had been emptied. 
What had I to prove that my midnight visitor was more 


130 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


than a creation of nightmare? I lifted the tumbler and 
scanned it anxiously. There was but one drop in the bot- 
tom, which ran round the crystal circle with the dry, bead- 
like rapidity of quick-silver. I asked the girl if she had 
washed it. 

“No,” she answered; “I’ll get you a clean tumbler, 
miss.” 

“ Never mind,” I responded, “I want this glass.” 

I carried it down stairs, but I was so weak and tremulous 
that I rested three times on the way. It was with diffi- 
culty that I could open the library door and lean against the 
wall. 

My father and Dr. Graves were in close discussion; Mr. 
Speingle, the lawyer, was also there, attentively listening to 
the colloquy of the other gentlemen. 

“Heavens!” ejaculated my father, catching sight of me; 
“here’s little Iva, as white as a ghost! What has happened, 
child?” 

He came to me and took my hand; I was so awed and 
solemnized by the horror I had experienced, that the sight 
of so many friendly faces almost made me break down; but 
I overcame my feelings, and came forward to the table, 
where I put the tumbler down, and held my shaking hand 
out to each of the gentlemen. 

“ What’s the matter?” said Dr. Graves, putting on his 
glasses and drawing me closer. “You’ve got a nervous 
headache, child, and your hand is as dry and hot as an 
ember. Eh! What’s this?” He bent his head and sniffed 
loudly two or three times in my face. “ Who’s been giv- 
ing yon chloroform, eh? Now what — what does this 
mean? The child’s nearly killed — she’s drenched with 
chloroform !” 

“Impossible!” I exclaimed. “I am not conscious of 
having inhaled chloroform, but I am — oh, I am dreadfully 
sick.” 

“Exactly,” he said, seating me on a sofa, where I was 
glad to sink my head on the cushions. “Anaesthetics are 
opposed to your constitution, and you opposed the chloro- 
form until a sufficient quantity was inhaled to over- 
power you, and you feel the effects this morning; nau- 
sea, sea-sickness, headache, etc. Now, don’t you? Come, 
my dear, confess now — haven’t you been tampering with 
the chloroform bottle, for the toothache or something?” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


131 


“ No, indeed,” I answered, in a tremulous voice; “but 
there is perhaps truth in your surmise for all that. Papa, 
a very strange thing happened last night. May I tell it to 
you and these gentlemen just now?” 

My father came near and sat beside me, and supported me 
with his arm. 

“Go on, my daughter,” he said, not a little anxiously. 

I related the whole of last night’s experiences as faith- 
fully and minutely as my stammering tongue and burning 
thirst would allow me. The three gentlemen listened in 
blank amazement. 

“ What — what in Heaven’s name would you call that?” 
exclaimed my father, when I had finished. “An attempt 
to poison a young girl in her own room?” 

The lawyer seized a pen, and proceeded to commit my 
story to paper, with many interspersed questions. The 
doctor seized the tumbler and retired to the window with it. 

“Now,” said Mr. Speingle, throwing down his pen, “my 
opinion is that you’ve got some wretched enemy or con- 
spirator, and he or she is at the bottom of all your troubles. 
The attempt at ” 

“Poison!” interposed Dr. Graves, turning round. 

“At poison,” repeated Mr. Speingle, “which was made 
last night on the person of your daughter, proves that the 
animus is not directed against one member of your family, 
but against both. My advice to you, sir, is to send your 
family out of the city, to some safe place and put the whole 
of this affair into the hands of the authorities. Your lives 
are not safe at this rate.” 

“Safe!” responded the doctor, “safe” — they’re not 
worth an hour’s purchase! That girl has been nearly stifled 
with chloroform, and plied with poison to boot — rank 
poison! This tumbler is lined with it — the very smell is 
deadly. Get them out of this, sir, away to the country 
with them, where nobody’ll know anything about them; 
the other one will die on your hands if you don’t.” 

While thus my unhappy father was being conjured on 
either side, my mother, with somewhat of an anxious face, 
entered the room. 

The instant her eyes lit on me, she clasped her hands 
with an involuntary gasp of alarm. 

“ How ill you look!” she cried. “Indeed Sophie was 
right. Good-morning, Mr. Speingle. Ah, doctor, I am 


132 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


glad you have not gone yet. I fear this is another patient 
for you.” 

“ Be seated, madam,” said the lawyer, ceremoniously plac- 
ing a chair. “If you have an hour to spare, I should 
feel deeply indebted if you would bestow it upon me. The 
doctor is attending to the lady — she is not dangerously in- 
disposed, for which we thank Heaven, madam. May I 
claim your attention?” 

“ Certainly,” said my mother, seating herself, with a 
slightly paler cheek. 

Dr. Graves very deliberately poured out a glass of wine 
from a decanter on the buffet and made me drink it. 

“ Cast back your memory, madam,” began the lawyer, 
impressively, “ and review each lady friend you ever had, 
and tell me if you are conscious of ever giving them cause 
of enmity against you. Any jealousy,” he glanced with a 
faint smile at my father, “or wrong? In short, do you 
know of any soul who could bear you hatred?” 

My mother sat reviewing her past life with an astounded 
face, and then she shook her head decidedly. 

“Always bearing this in mind,” continued the lawyer,” 
“ listen to the facts your daughter has just made known to 
xis.” 

He snatched up the sheet of paper on which he had been 
writing, and read nearly word for word the story as I had 
related it. 

Paler than ever grew my mother’s face ; her eyes darkened 
and turned toward my father in anxious appeal; when the 
words which the woman had used were repeated to her, she 
clasped her hands and bent forward with a sudden revela- 
tion on her face which caused the lawyer to pause, and fix 
his keen eyes upon her. 

“ My oath is fulfilled! 

“ What does that bring to your memory, madam? You 
remember something?” 

“ A mere surmise,” she answered; “go on to the end. 
Perhaps my husband,” she looked again at him, “may be 
able to recall some one who might have an oath to fulfill. 
Go on, Mr. Speingle.” 

The lawyer went on to the end, folded up the paper, and 
twisted it round and round in his fingers. 

“My poor child,” was my mother’s first exclamation, 
while she bent over me and kissed me. “ Oh, what an 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


133 


escape! Guiseppe,” she lowered her voice to a whisper, 
“ remember Gemma Lancinetto. Could it be she? 

My father started; the arm on which I leaned was with- 
drawn, and he turned an incredulous, half-amused face on 
my mother. 

“ Would she defer her revenge for twenty— yes, twenty- 
two years? No, no, my Maud, she has doubtless forgotten 
my name long before this time, if she lives. 

“ Well?” broke in the lawyer’s business-like voice. 

« It is not worth explaining,” said my father, flushing, 
and lookiug proudly at my mother. “ This foolish wife ot 
mine was recalling a certain lady who intended to have 
stood in her place at my wedding, but for a reason, failed. 

“ Perhaps my good friend, Dr. Graves, would like his 
little patient there to go and lie down, and get a nice quiet 
little nap,” said Mr. Speingte, looking significantly at the 

“ Let her stay,” said my father, compressing his arm 
round me, in a close embrace. “ I have nothing that I need 
hide from my little daughter. My wife was merely referring 
to a lady that I, while a very young man, in Florence, at 
the School of Arts, got engaged to. She was possessed of both 
wealth and beauty, but was unsuitable for me; and, there- 
fore, as soon as I became aware of this, I released her from 
her engagement, and in the subsequent years of choosing a 
profession and coming to America, I confess I forgot big- 
norina Lancinetto’s existence. Five years after we parted 
we met on our wedding day, when I was leading my wite 
here into the carriage for our tour, and the lady used some 
very hard expressions against me, which caused Mrs. liienzi 
a great deal of alarm for a while, particularly one threat 
which she made, in very passionate Italian, that She would 
e ive me cause to remember Gemma Lancinetto to the day 
of my death.’ In an evil hour I translated the Christian- 
like promise to my young wife, and cost her many a wake- 
ful night afterward, but the lady, not being as good as her 
promise for twenty-two years, I confess I have long ago lost 

^“Genima lancinetto, ” said Mr. Speingle, opening his 
sheet of notes, and scribbling on the back. ‘‘Describe the 
lady as she was twenty-two years ago, Mr. Kienzi. I his is 

^OpescJibe^her^ Oh, beautiful of course, as an angel!” 


134 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI 


said my father half- jocularly; “ brown eyes, large, flashing, 
effective (especially when the lady was in a rage, as in her 
last Iliad the pleasure of beholding her), regular features, 
with enough diablerie in them to upset all classic calms and 
Grecian coldness; clear, brunette complexion, waving black 
hair, which just then was plentifully disheveled and mal- 
treated by ten very spiteful fingers; medium height, ex- 
uberantly full; age about — age just twenty-one.” 

“ If she lives she is forty-three now. Miss Ivanilla des- 
cribe the woman you saw in your bedroom last night.” 

“I cannot,” I said, with a shudder. “It was a very 
pale face, with great hollow caverns for eyes, and level, 
black brows, with an expression of strong vengeance; and a 
dark mantle muffled it all round, and hid the figure and all, 
but a long white hand, which — ugh!” I broke off, and 
hid my face on my father’s shoulder with a prolonged 
shudder. 

“ Very good, very good,” said the lawyer, writing down 
my words with gusto; “more than one might have ex- 
pected from you, my dear, under such circumstances. 
Now, sir, we must find this woman. That is move the 
first.” 

“ But such a chimerical idea,” said my father, still half 
laughing. “I don’t believe it’s the same woman at all. 
Pshaw, as if a woman could keep true to one idea for 
twenty-two years, before she puts it into execution I 
Pshaw !” 

“Guiseppe, do not laugh,” breathed my mother earn- 
estly. 

“ Such a woman as she would never forget.” 

“Whether it is Mrs. Lensetts, or whatever you call her, 
or not,” remarked Mr. Speingle, doggedly, “ it behooves 
us to find the person who broke into the house last night, 
and convict her of an attempted murder. I am sure you 
agree with me there?” 

“Most assuredly;” responded my father, “we shall at 
once lay some plan to discover her — if we can even call her 
by name.” 

“Humph!” muttered Speingle, “I think we’ll be able 
to call her by name by and by. I think we met her in the 
course of your daughter’s trial, once or twice. Suppose 
that for the present we call her Mrs. Beaumont?” 

“ What nonsense.” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


135 


“ Not a bit of it, my dear sir. It’s a well-known fact that 
young Beaumont had Italian blood in his veins; his father 
was not Italian — he was a Virginian — then his mother must 
have been Italian." 

“ But why fasten upon her at all?" 

“ Because she did one fraud that we know of. She sub- 
stituted Leauder Rosecraft’s body for that of her own 
son, at the inquest, and concealed the fact that he was not 
killed." 

“ If you are finished with this young lady," interrupted 
the doctor, feeling my pulse; “ I'll take the liberty of send- 
ing her off to get some food; and with your permission, Mr. 
Rienzi, I will take this precious tumbler home with me and 
analyse it properly. Cheer up, ,,T ' T *” 1 ’ ’ 



never filled the church-yard, 
am yet, never fear." 


He hurried me rather unceremoniously up stairs, and 
sent Sophie for my breakfast; then lie asked my permission 
to examine my bedroom for a few moments. 

When he came back he was more abrupt than ever. 

“ That girl of yours is stupid, and you’re all stupid to- 
gether!" he exclaimed. “What’s in your nose — ’’ here 
he turned to Sophie, who was just entering with the lun- 
cheon tray, “not to smell the most overpowering scent of 
chloroform in Miss Ivanilla’s bedroom? It’s been poured 
on the very pillow she slept on!" 

Sophie stood the picture of consternation 

“ I did smell something very queer," she said at last; “but 
Miss Iva said there was medicine in the tumbler of water 
which I poured away, and I thought maybe it was it." 

“ Child, I cannot understand how you didn’t detect it," 
said Doctor Graves, resuming the reproaches which were ad- 
dressed to me. “You should always keep your senses 
about you. You did very well about seeing , but if you 
had smelt as well, it would have saved you all the pain 
you have endured since she made off, besides, perhaps, 
assisting you to prevent her escape. Girl, go and throw 
all the windows up in your mistress’ room, and change the 
bed-linen. v 

I could not understand either, how the pungent smell 
which now hung so heavily about me, and loaded every 
breath, had not attracted my attention when it was first ad- 
ministered. 


136 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


But different as are the perfumes, I shall never, to the 
day of my death, approach the night-blooming cereus, 
without a return of all the horrors of that awful night, and 
a faintness chill as death, stealing over me, to remind me of 
one of the most blood-curdling episodes of my existence. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

THERE ARE FRIENDS, AND FRIENDS — WITH A DIFFERENCE. 

“ I bless thee, for thy lips are bland, " 

And bright the friendship of thine eye; 

And in my thoughts with scarce a sigh, 

I take the pressure of thine hand.” — Tennyson. 

I shall pass over two days with a somewhat hasty review, 
for, in truth, I was not competent for much, for that time, 
as I was more than half an invalid and the doctor strictly 
forbade me to take any part in the arrangements of the 
family, or to excite myself in the slightest. 

So I spent most of the time in my sister’s room, where 
my slight illness had the effect of rousing her wonderfully 
into kind and loving cares for me. 

To tell the truth, I had been frightened almost to death, 
and could not, for some time after the occurrence, raise my 
spirits from the depression that weighed upon them. 

I was happy with my dear Isolina, however, and since 
neither of us was capable of bearing much excitement, we 
never alluded to subjects which were not of a calm and 
cheerful nature; and I was happy to see that my presence 
was a source of deep pleasure to her, and that she clung to 
me more closely than ever. 

I heard little of the plans which were being made by my 
parents and our friends for our future movements. From 
this time the burden of anxiety was taken from my 
shoulders and borne by other hands, and I sank into the 
place which was best suited to me — that of nurse or com- 
panion to my beloved sister. 

I was given to understand, however, by my mother, who 
had sustained almost as severe a shock as I in hearing of 
my adventure, that a vigorous search had been commenced 
for the would-be assassin, under the directions of Mr. Spein- 
gle. Mr. Lindhurst, with whom my father consulted about 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


137 


a suitably retired country place for us to resort to, recom- 
mended a certain obscure village on the Atlantic shore, 
whose charms of scenery, bracing air and retirement, he 
said, would fulfill our wishes admirably. 

This place, which was designated Ranelagh, and which 
was so very obscure that my father said he had never heard 
of it, was the destination for which we purposed starting 
immediately. 

On the morning of the day in which we intended to leave 
the city I went out to arrange my business as “ Soldiers’ 
Friend,” and to leave my poor people in charge of No. 10, 
if she would undertake them. But Miss Cranstown not 
being at home when I called, I left a message with the lady 
president for her, and went to see the poor young widow, 
Mrs. Harrison, who had now set up a milliner’s shop in 
a quiet little street, and seemed to be prospering tolerably 
well. 

I carried to her the photographs, letter, and identifier of 
her unfortunate brother, which she received with sad 
thankfulness. She had now sustained the double loss of 
husband and brother, all who protected her. No wonder 
that her eyes streamed with tears as she bent over her or- 
phaned boy! 

“ And he reminds me of them both!” she sobbed. “He 
has poor Leander’s pretty curly head, and it sets so jaunty 
on his shoulders — just like him! But oh! he has his 
father’s very eyes! My wee babe, you never saw your father 
— oh, no — no!” 

Mrs. Harrison told me that Mr. Speingle had come two 
days and talked with her for hours about her brother, ask- 
ing the strangest questions. She also showed me two golden 
dollars, which the kind old gentleman had put in baby’s 
hand, and, with tears of gratitude, said he had promised 
to see that the child got a good education if he lived. 

As I walked home (having some purchases to make I did 
not ride), I saw a handsome carriage at the door of a hotel, 
and at the moment in which I passed, a lady tripped down 
the marble flight of steps, and for the time blocked my fur- 
ther progress by her trailing skirts. 

I drew back with flushing cheeks, when the lady, turn- 
ing her head, disclosed the haughty fa-ce of Lillia Mere- 
dith. 

“I am surprised,” she said, looking at me from head to 


138 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


foot; “I am more than surprised, that the sister of the cele- 
brated Rienzi walks unprotected through the streets!” 

The wickedness with which she sneered these words raised 
my slumbering passion like a spark to touch-wood. . 

“My scorn on the woman who proves a false friend!” I 
returned, gazing steadily in her face. 

“ Scorn Miss Isolina Rienzi, then!” she said, with a laugh, 
“and between your scorn and my vengeance, which I mean 
to pursue, perhaps justice may be satisfied.” 

“Miss Meredith,” I said, turning pale with the effort to 
command myself, “ circumstances have proved my sister 
innocent. Withdraw your persecution or this whole city 
will execrate your name.” 

“And do I care?” was the defiant retort, while her blue 
eyes scintillated with sparks of rage. “ She was the cause 
of my being deserted this day, and for that I will be avenged. 

‘ A blow for a blow ’ — that is my creed.” 

“”Tis a dog’s creed that — a savage religion. I pity 
you.” 

“ Reserve your pity for those who suffer by it.” 

“ Beware!” I exclaimed, stung to the heart by her cru- 
elty; “beware how you mingle gall in my innocent sister’s 
cup. She is broken-hearted and dying with the weight of 
other people’s crimes; no mean vengeance of yours is needed 
to hasten her doom.” 

“ It has come already, then?” she cried, exultingly; “ the 
time which I prophesied would come, when her beauty would 
be a memory and her talents turned to her own destruction! 
Dying is she? Come — I’m sorry for you, and will prove it. 

I will prove it. I will drive you home, lest some of the lit- 
tle urchins on the street recognize you and prove trouble- 
some; and you shall tell your sister that Lillia Meredith is 
still human, though she has a dog’s creed. Come in.” 

She turned the silver handle of the carriage-door and 
pointed to a seat, with a half-touched expression struggling 
with the harder lines upon her face. 

I might have seized the momentary softening in its faint 
birth, and strengthened it into permanent contrition, by 
my own gentleness, but I was trembling with indignation 
and let the opportunity pass which might have saved so much 
sorrow. 

“ When you remember your enmity against my sister, I 
shall accept your benefits,” I replied, coldly. 


BEAUTIFUL R1ENZI. 


139 


“ Good! a long adieu then!” she returned, shutting her- 
self in. “ Drive to the station, coachman.” 

The carriage whirled away, and I walked on, still trem- 
bling with apprehension and anger. I knew she had just 
the character to cling stubbornly and pertinaciously to an 
idea until it was accomplished. Having chosen to consider 
Isolina as her enemy, no earthly power would turn the bit- 
ter prejudice from its channel. Your women who “ never 
forget” are invariably patient, implacable, and tireless in 
their pursuit of vengeance. 

When I readied home I found my friend, Miss Belle 
Cranstown, in the drawing-room, seated before the piano, in 
a most extraordinary flow of spirits, alternately rattling off 
waltzes and sallies of wit to mamma, who was listening with 
pleased enjoyment; and there also, to my astonishment, sat 
my poor sister in a deep easy chair near the window, also 
listening to the allapodrida which emanated from my lively 
friend, with a sweet, gentle smile on her face; which last 
was so great a stranger there that I stood in the door-way 
watching it with quivering lip. 

“Ah, there you are!” cried Miss Belle, whirling round, 
“and pray what are you looking so surprised at? Ha! ha! 
don’t you see we are giving the invalid a change of air to 
prepare her for Ranelagh?” 

She skimmed over and gayly shook my hands, whisper- 
ing the while: 

“Met Doctor Graves in the city this morning — told me 
you were going away to-day — polite enough to tell me to 
chatter like a magpie, if I came up, and cheer you all up. 
Sure yon need it, even you, poor little white ghost! Be 
gay, my little gipsy — laugh, and be gay — the worst is 
over!” 

Thus finishing, with an additional shake of my hands, 
she brightly nodded her head and resumed the piano-stool. 

“And what is this I hear?” said the young lady, begin- 
ning to fly through the intricacies of an arpeggio opera in 
C. by Beethoven, which wafted me on the wings of fondest 
memory to my Venetian home, where my dear old grand- 
mother and I used to sit in the evenings upon the balcony 
listening- to the lutes of the passing cavaliers under the awn- 
ings of their gondolettes — oh, these evenings, in the old- 

fashioned house above Kialto! What is this I hear? 

Hydra-head was out to tea last night, and came home and 


140 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


told me that the Queen of Hearts had vanquished one and 
was about to celebrate the victory!” 

“Hydra-head?” 

“ Sister Lu, then,” explained the mad-cap, turning round 
in the middle of her piece; “she said that Miss Iva was 
about to be united to— ‘ one— a lone one "mid the throng ’ — 
Mr. Lindhurst.” 

“And so she is!” said Isolina, holding my hand fondly; 
“and she will be as happy as a little queen, I am sure, with 
him. ” 

“ Bravo!” cried Miss Belle, catching my other hand in de- 
light; “ I’m glad Mrs. Grundy was right for once! My 
two ideals — you little gipsy, don’t blush so charmingly. Look, 
Isolina! oh,’ kiss her— the pet, and may I kiss you, too — for 
congratulations?” 

This half-absurd, half-touching embrace being over, Miss 
Belle seated herself at my mother’s feet, leaving me still 
fondly held by Isolina. 

“And so i have come to bid you good-by,” resumed the 
young lady, with a sigh, “ you dear old friend whom I have 
scarcely seen yet. Do you know Iva, that I know Mrs. Rienzi 
far better than her youngest daughter does?” 

“ Indeed!” 

“Ah, you may look jealous! I have enjoyed her friend- 
ship ever since 1 was an unfortunate little wretch of six, 
staggering along every morning to school with a load of 
books as high as myself — ah, happy childhood! Your dear 
mamma scraped up a street acquaintance with me on the 
happy occasion of my running against her carriage in a hurry, 
and breaking my nose against the front wheel, while my 
books flew in at the carriage windows, for which I was treated 
to a ride home, a week of holidays, and a beautiful wax doll 
from my new friend.” 

“ I don't think you enjoyed your first ride with me, 
much,” observed my mother, laughing. 

“ I can’t say that it was bliss unalloyed,” admitted Belle. 
“I believe I was a little terrified by the shadow cf my swelled 
nose on the carriage curtain, and shed more tears than 
smiles. Ah, me, 

‘ My dreams come o’er me like a spell, ■ 

1 think I am again a child.’ 

t( I say, Ivanilla, what shall we do to bring back the light 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


141 


to this pale shade? She looks as if she had hidden farewell 
to this world, and the spirit was gazing an adieu upon the 
mortal it loved before it 

‘Faded back like a sunbeam 
Into the realms of light.’ 

“ Shall we call her Heaven's chastened?'' 

She folded my sister’s hand within her own, and gazed 
with that tender, pleading look, until Isolina, gazing back 
with brimming eyes, suddenly smiled a brilliant answer, and 
burst into tears. 

“Oh, thanks, my friend,” she murmured, “that comforts 
me. I will be Heaven’s chastened.” 

Lower drooped the lovely girl, and whispered of a balm 
which sometimes comes to broken hearts, until the world- 
weary invalid gazed raptly and almost joyfully upon her. 
Hope, long fled, stole back to her eyes; the despairing look 
gave way to the new tide of heavenly comfort which was 
shown to her; an eager, entranced expression was on her 
face all the time these whispered words of Christian com- 
fort fell from the lips of our gentle friend. 

Why had I never tried such means of cheer? What had 
my eager, worldly striving done for her? 

Oh, sweet Belle^Cranstown— gentle messenger, smooth be 
thy pathway to the Life which is for thee beyond. 

“Stay with us until we start this afternoon,” said my 
mother, when Miss Cranstown once more turned to us, her 
eyes brighter than diamonds after their gentle tears. 

‘ <• Wish I could, but alas!” she responded, with her usual 
vivacity; “seven pairs of eyes watch for me elsewhere.” 

“ Disappoint them,” I suggested. 

“ And bring my unlucky faults to the tips of seven volu- 
able tongues? Impossible! I go to guard my character.” 

“ Don’t go,” pleaded my sister, earnestly. 

Belle was pulling on her gloves in a great hur.ry, but 
when she heard the mild remonstrance, she paused irreso- 

1U “ Well, I don’t care!” she cried, throwing down her hat. 
“ Belle, I devote thv name to the tongues of the mighty 
seven— a sacrifice to friendship. I left Louisa on Mrs. Les- 
mar’s steps where we both were booked to spend the day, 
and where I suppose they anxiously await my presence 
in their gossips— I to supply the facts— they to embellish 


142 


BEAUTIFUL MENZI. 


and weave into tissues of — ahem! as Mrs. Lesmar, Horten- 
sia, Georgiana, Leonora, Mary and Betty Lesmar, assisted 
by my sister, Lu, can weave such webs as endless as Penel- 
ope’s" if you give them time. I sha’n’t aid them; I’ll stay 
here.” 

Having thus expressed herself, Miss Belle picked up 
her little hat from the floor, fished her parasol, vail, and 
card-case from under the piano, and followed me up stairs. 

After having pulled off her gloves and shawl, Miss Belle, 
in dead silence, dived into her pocket, and, after unfolding 
two or three circulars and charitable cards of various kinds, 
at last handed me a cut-out paragraph of a newspaper, which 
she bade me read. 

“The London Post says that a party of gentlemen, who had pene- 
trated into the deserts of Persia for scientific purposes, after under- 
going several strange adventures, which are minutely described, left 
Astrabad with a caravan of Calaite merchants, and reached the frontier 
in safety; from whence they made all haste to return to their insular 
brethren, quite reconciled to pursue their experiments at home in fu- 
ture. The plague they report as raging through Astrabad; and they 
were amazed to meet a young English gentleman there, who was work- 
ing heart and hand among the smitten wretches as a physician. This 
adventurous Englishman is called Victor Joselyn, and is the only rep- 
resentative of an old English family, whose estates are in Somerset- 
shire.” 

“ Do you know what I thought when I read that, this 
morning?” said Belle, when I had finished. “I thought, 
‘All will be well with Isolina if she loves so noble a man!’ 
Why should we fear anything, Iva, my darling! Dry your 
tears. If Heaven spares Victor Joselyn, we may trust him 
with our dear Isolina’s happiness. Let ns never grieve our 
hearts with a question which we do not understand. In- 
comprehensible as their friendship appears to us, 1 know 
that it is right. So true a man — so brave and compassion- 
ate — must be the soul of honor.” 

Her enthusiasm infected me. I dashed away the tears 
of dismay and grief, which first had sprung to my eyes, and 
looked almost with adoring regards at the name of my un- 
known hero. 

“ Oh, may Heaven spare his life!” I aspirated. 

Miss Cranstown echoed my prayer with an embrace, and 
told me to keep the scrap of paper. 

“ I knew that strange picture vexed and puzzled you/’ 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZ1. 


143 


said the dear girl; “and I brought you this to comfort 
you." 

Then we had a confidential little chat on subjects which 
lay particularly near my heart; and I listened with a happy, 
glowing face to praises of a certain friend of mine, in whose 
excellence I took a very warm interest. 

I believe my heart was almost recovered from the sick de- 
pression which I had felt for two days, when we went down 
stairs to lunch. 

Miss Cranstown, with a flow of spirits which never flagged, 
and clever jokes innumerable, made herself wonderfully 
useful, assisted in the final packing of the various 
trunks, which were to be ready for the cabman at four 
o’clock. 

Yet, when the final moment came, and my sister, fragile, 
pale, and lovely as a lily, stood in the door-way, where the 
smoky, citv-grown foliage clambered up to touch her, and 
the languid flowers breathed faint incense, Belle broke down 
at last, and her sunny face grew pale with suppressed grief, 
while she bade my sister farewell; but her rushing tears were 
hidden from us all, as the dear, unselfish girl tied on her 
little hat, and quietly turned away, to trip modestly down 
the street and out of sight. 

Mr. Ernest Lind hurst met us at the railway station, and 
lingered as long as he might within the car; then, with a 
shriek and a jolt, our train got into motion. My friend 
sprang upon the platform, and stood, with hat uplifted, and 
earnest regards, ‘until we had glided away; then, with a 
quicker motion, like a racer when the blood pulsates through 
his veins and he leaps to the sweep of the first heat, we 
were borne onward to the new scenes, and left the old be- 
hind us. 


144 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

SILVERLEA. 

“ So thick the boughis and the leavis green 
Beshaded all the alleys that there were. 

****** 

Growing so fair with branches here and there,] 

That as it seemed to a lyf without 

The boughis spread the arbour all about.” 1 

James 1st, Scotland. 

Our journey was soon over; my eagerly recurring query — 
“ Is this Ranelagh?” — was at last answered by my father in 
the affirmative (who must have dislocated his neck to satisfy 
my curiosity), and the train rushed with a savage whoop 
into a small covered station; the guard shouted in at the 
door, “Ranelagh!” and we rose from our seats. 

In five minutes we were huddled together on a wooden 
platform, my mother supporting Isolina on her arm; Sophie 
mounted guard over a muffled cage containing my little 
hoopoes from the Valley of Arno; a whimpering Neapolitan 
pup in her arms, of undoubted breed but stupid disposi- 
tion — also mine; a valise on either side of her, and an um- 
brella dangling from her little finger; while my father res- 
cued our baggage from the incredulous vanguards, and I 
looked about in vain for signs of the village. At last we 
were ushered out of the station by one of a group of boys, 
whose straw hat was like the poet’s dream: 

“ I had a hat, which was not all a hat, 

Part of the rim was gone;” 

and after mounting a slight hill, the hotel of Ranelagh was 
designated to us and I beheld the village. 

There was a broad, grass-grown street, fenced off appro- 
priately by what might pass for “broken lines” in geom- 
etry, but to the general eye looked like zig-zag fencing; 
infringed on, farther on, by some half a dozen houses on 
either side, squatted cozily behind tall poplars or Balm of 
Gilead trees. 

On the horizon a deep, blue belt of ocean wavered with 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


145 


many a heaving, comb-crested sparkle; to the right a scat- 
tered settlement of brown farm-houses cozily nestled in the 
valley; to the left a pyramid of wooded hills rose up, 
crowned with blue ether, and shut out the east Avinds. 

A pretty spot was the Ranelagh village — surely peace and 
safety reigned here! 

The hotel, by far the most pretentious edifice in the val- 
ley, was the nearest house to the station, and was enlivened 
by a flaming sigu covering the whole of the second flat, 
which informed us that “Old Sol” was going to enter- 
tain us. Three young men who were shoveling earth into 
a cart at the side of the road suddenly disappeared behind 
the house, and were immediately after transformed into 
three waiters in white aprons, Avho lounged out to the front 
balcony and watched us approaching. 

The landlord, with a broad, red, beaming face, and in a 
great hurry, came across a hay-field, and ushered us with a 
flourish into the house, where a young woman pounced 
upon us, and led the ladies of us into a very small bed- 
room. 

Sophie, after depositing my little company of pets on a 
table in the outer room, took off her things, tied on an 
apron from out of her pocket, and grimly beating out a 
large cat before her, whose yelloAv eyes were glaring with 
greed at the birds, found her way to the kitchen to see 
about some food for Isolina. 

We immediately divested our invalid of her clothes, and 
made her lie doAvn in the soft, doAvny bed, which smelled 
of sweet clover and thyme, and Avas Avhite as pure bleach- 
ing on grass Avhich never Avas besmoked, could make it. 

She was too exhausted even to speak ; the journey had 
been great for her small stock of strength ; but she looked 
and smiled so placidly, that I could not but hope this SAveet 
place Avould restore her in time, and Ave were much com- 
forted to see the Avonderful appetite with Avhich she ate the 
dainty little supper Avhich Sophie brought in. Ten minutes 
afterward she Avas in a profound slumber. 

The sun Avas just dipping behind the hills when Ave en- 
tered the eating-room where our dinner waited us, and 
where my father Avas seated, in conversation with the land- 
lord. 

“ Yes, sir/’ the man Avas saying, “ I think it would just 
suit you if it’s a house to hire for the summer, youYe after; 


146 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 

just exactly, sir. A quiet, healthy place you want, ma’am ? 
Well, there’s not a quieter nor a healthier place ’twixt this 
and New York, nor that same place; nor a prettier or more 
genteel, I make bold to say, miss.” 

“ To whom does it belong?” 

“ Well, sir, it did belong (though it doesn’t now— lie’s 
dead this three year), to Squire Granville; but now a 
brother of his owns it, in Connecticut, and as he don’t want 
to come and live in it himself, he lets it out, do you 
see? So it’s just waiting for you, sir.” 

« Very good. And to whom shall I apply?” 

“ The house-agent lives just across the street, sir. Do 
you see that house with the green shutters? that’s Mr. Fern- 
ley’s, and he’ll show you over Silverlea, whenever you like.” 

“ Silverlea?” 

“ Yes, miss, that’s the name old Squire Granville, poor 
man, called the place. Oh, you’ll like it, missy, it’s quite 
a villar like, with lots of courts and courting places around, 
ha, ha! Parding me, miss, I like a joke with the young 
folks. You see there’s lots of them white-barked trees on 
the place, and the sea comes in at the back quite beautiful 
miss"; on a calm day, you could count most a hundred ships 
at once, way out on the Atlantic.” 

“ Hush!” I ejaculated, laying down my knife and fork. 
“ Your description is so charming that I will make my 
papa take the house, whatever disadvantages there are and he 
will blame you.” 

At which the jolly landlord laughed, deep down in his 
capacious thorax, and departed. 

As soon as we had dined, my father hurried across the 
street to find the house agent, and my mother and I prepared 
ourselves to accompany them to Silverlea. 

It was scarcely yet sunset, when my father returned with 
a dry, good-humored looking little man by his side, in whose 
company we started for our walk of half a mile, through 
the village and out to the shore. 

Pretty indeed, was the road to Silverlea, with alternate 
fields of wheat and rye, and sometimes wastes of alderbushes, 
and downy, deep-green stretches of samphires, and here and 
and there a prairie-like roll of meadows, where herds of 
sheep lifted their white heads at our approach, and bounced 
away to the nearest clump of pine-wood. 

Presently we reached the snore road, and ascended a sud* 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


147 


den bluff, where fir-trees lined either side of the road, and 
the broad, lazy waves of the Atlantic rolled in upon the yel- 
low sand. 

“ This is Silverlea.” 

I saw a white cottage with three pointed gables, a piazza 
running along one side and upheld by pillars of Corinthian 
simplicity, a veranda on top of the piazza, with a delicate 
tracery of carved wood by way of parapet, and many a quaint 
panel of Gothic ornament interspersed. 

A pointed bay-window in front, with Gothic pendants, 
imitated by the long, narrow windows down the sides, 
which looked out on all sides to green retreats and shady 
terraces. A more delightfully incomprehensible, romantic 
little villa could scarcely be conceived; it looked at one point 
like a Spanish casino/with its verdant jalousies and trellised 
balconies, and I almost listened for the lute of the trouba- 
dour, and looked for the lovely Andalusian to appear, after 
her seclusion from the scorching sobano, to drop her bou- 
quet of orange blossoms into the bosom of her serenader. 

“Oh, father!’' I exclaimed, “take this paradise.’’ 

“You will find it very nicely furnished,” said Mr. Fern- 
ley, knocking smartly at the door. “ Mr. Granville was a 
gentleman of taste, though a bachelor, and his brother not 
caring for these things, left the furniture just as it was for 
the use of the tenants. The housekeeper, who is a fixture 
here, keeps everything in exact order, as you will see, and is 
as peaceable a woman as ever breathed.” 

At this moment the door was opened by an old woman in 
a white muslin cap and stiff gown, who dropped a low cour- 
tesy to Mr. Fernley and another to us. 

“How de do, Mrs. Haller? Some visitors I’ve brought 
over to see the house; all the way from the city, too. The 
housekeeper, sir, I was telling you about.” 

“ Glad to see you, Mrs. Haller,” said my father, walking 
in. “ I think we shall be old friends pretty soon. Nice 
little place, eh, Maud?” 

We all marched successively into the various rooms, which 
were certainly furnished very prettily and tastefully, and 
kept in admirable order by the housekeeper. 

We wandered about until the silver moonbeams were steal- 
ing through the moveless trees; and to my unbounded de- 
light my father decided to rent Silverlea for the summer. 


148 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZ1. 


We returned in the fairy-like beauty of the summer night 
to the hotel. 


CHAPTER XIX. 

WAS IT “ CIRCUMSTANCE?” 

For a raven ever croaks at my side, 

“ Keep watch and ward — keep watch and ward!” 

— Tennyson. 

The next morning all arrangements were satisfactorily 
completed with Mr. Fernley for renting Silverlea, and we 
were transported in Mr. Stanton’s best wagon from the hotel 
to our new abode, which proved to be quite as lovely by day- 
light as it had appeared by night. 

My sister turned her wistful eyes from side to side, and 
her wasted cheeks flushed faintly with pleasure. She drank 
in the exhilarating sea-breeze and murmured softly, ‘‘I 
shall rest here!” at which my silly, credulous heart bounded 
with joy. 

With considerable pride, I conveyed Isolina up stairs to 
the chamber which had been allotted to us, and which was 
glistening with pristine freshness from Mrs. Haller’s careful 
hands. Daintily papered walls of white and silver; pure 
fleecy drapery, looped back from the windows by light silver 
tassels, a dark-green carpet with clusters of white water- 
lilies scattered over it; a low French bed with a canopy of 
fleecy lace; an emerald -green vase with a silver adder twined 
round it, and filled with odorous fresh-plucked water-lilies 
on the mantel; a cheval-glass in one corner, which reflected 
again the pretty combination of colors. Such was the little 
chamber assigned to Isolina and me. 

I saw that she liked it, and I was pleased; so I threw open 
the window and drew her to look at the same view which 
had enchanted me at night. 

“ Yes,” repeated my sister, turning softly to me; “ I shall 
find rest in this lovely spot, for awhile!” 

But at present she was so exhausted by the short drive 
from the village in Mr. Stanton’s wagon that she had to lie 
down and rest. 

Being naturally of a very impatient nature, I determined 
to acquaint myself with all the points of interest about 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZ1. 


149 


Silverlea without loss of time, and so with this end in view, 
I repaired to the kitchen to make the more intimate ac- 
quaintance of the housekeeper; leaving my mother gently 
swaying herself in a rocking-chair in the pretty parlor be- 
fore the window, and my father enjoying himself luxuri- 
ously in an arm-chair on the piazza, his eyes fixed compla- 
cently on his wife, his panama hat on the floor beside him, 
and his back against a leafy pillow — the picture of calm 
enjoyment. 

I found the kitchen, a low, wide, yellow-painted room, 
with three little square windows, looking out upon a court, 
or hen-yard, as I supposed, from the quantity of feathered 
creatures croaking and cackling in noisy enjoyment of some 
scattered grain. A brisk fire made of wood crackled upon 
the stone hearth, and from the stone-oven alongside a 
savory steam was issuing through the corners of the iron 
door, which assailed my hungry nostrils irresistibly. 

“Ah, Mrs. Iialler, what a quaint-looking place !” I 
cried, taking a delighted survey; “ and how strange and 
nice everything is!” 

She was busy brightening sundry dish-covers to add to 
the already long row on the yellow wall, and she laid one 
down to look round and laugh. 

“ I guess, miss, there’s plenty of life in you and never a 
taste of the blues! So you like my kitchen?” 

“I am enchanted with it, Mrs. Haller. Is that the 
bench that the young farmers sit on when they come court- 
ing in the evening?’’ 

She laughed softly. 

“ Little miss,” said she, “they ain’t many. come a-court- 
ing to Silverlea nowadays. I don’t know what they might 
have done if I was young and frolicsome, but age makes a 
difference, as I believe. No, indeed, miss. There’s not 
been a young man inside this kitchen since old master died, 
except one young gentleman — and he thought little enough 
of courting.” 

“Didn’t he? Well, I’m going to establish a new regime. 
I am going to fill these halls with youth and jollity — these 
pegs with wide-awakes — that bench with rustic beaus!” 

“I’m thinking our chaps round Ranelagh would feel 
rather shy of such a city miss as you — from foreign parts to 
boot — so I’ve heard.” 

“ I should hit the heels of my Achilles. Get another 


150 


BEAUTIFUL MENZI. 


bench for the other side of the porch, Mrs. Haller. We 
shall hold our conference there. How hungry I am!” 

“ Dear heart alive! What would you like, miss? Some 
bread and nice sweet-milk fresh from butter-cups?” 

“ Infusion of butter-cups?” 

“ Lor! there ain’t many butter-cups like my big black 
cow !” 

“ Oh! — bliss itself, signora! Better than the richest gob- 
let of wine expressed from grapes grown on the sunniest 
plank of Vesuvius!” 

“ Did you say ‘yes/ miss?” 

“Most decidedly, my friend. And may I have a tumbler 
for my sister? Ah, thank you! you are kind. But I shall 
explore a little longer before I awake her. Where does this 
lead to?” 

“Into the back yard, where the kitchen-stuff is; and 
yonder’s the stable; and this court is for everything — chop- 
ping, feeding fowls, cleaning vegetables, and all.” 

“ Is kitchen-stuff fish, flesh, or fowl — mineral, vegetable, 
or nondescript, my dear Mrs. Haller?” 

“Law sakes, I don’t know! only it’s the grass and stuff, 
and the apple-sass, and such-like. Would you like to see 
the chickens? Just open the door of that log-house and. 
look into a half-barrel at them.” 

“ Shades of Diogenes! juvenile philosophers! What little 
fuzzy things! Oh, you pet! You are the king of them, 
with your little broad bill and twinkling eyes!” 

“ That’s the only chicking out of a brood of thirteen. 
Do you like hop-beer, miss?” 

“ Very likely I do. I never saw any.” 

“Not! You shall have a drink of it this very day. 
Why, where was you raised, I wonder?” 

“Not on hop-yeast, you maybe sure, my friend. Oh! 
there is the well! What a heavy, moss-grown bucket; and 
how cool the air is when I put my head down!” 

“ Goodness gracious! Don’t fall in. See — are 3 T ou fond 
of posies? Would you like to make a tisty-tosty of cow- 
slips? There’s lots back there in the old orchard.” 

To the old woman’s evident relief, I left the vicinity of 
the well, and ran through a wicket-gate into a little forest 
of old gnarled apple and peach trees. 

All at once I came upon an old man who was rolling 
down the grass with a heavy stone roller, and so intently 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


151 


employed that he did not see me, though I stood close by 
him. 

“ All alike — all alike!” he muttered, driving at a stone 
which lay in his way. “Get over, will ye! Yes— will help 
herself in spite of me, and run into devil knows what 
scrapes, while I grub, grub, grub here — heh! This is rough 
ground.” 

“ Is that hard work?” I asked, wishing to apprise him of 
my presence. 

He turned round and stared in surprise at me. 

“ ’Morning, miss. How long have you been here? Well, 
not very hard, when it's not up hill. I didn’t see you, miss, 
before this minute, and you gave me a bit of a start.” 

It was a queer old face into which I was looking, and I 
could not help feeling mysteriously impressed. 

“I’m sorry if I startled you,” I said, wrenching myself 
from a reverie; “ I was looking over this pretty Silverlea, 
and did not expect to see anybody.” 

“ You are one of the new tenants then, miss?” 

“ Yes; we arrived from New York yesterday.” 

“ You’re not an American, miss.” 

“ How do you know, that?” I asked, laughing. 

He folded his arms on top of his roller, and gazed at me, 
with his chin down on his sleeves, with a kindly intentness. 

“ Your tongue betrays you, miss. Ain’t you Italian?” 

“ Yes, from Venice. I came last autumn.” 

The man raised himself suddenly. 

“ What’s your name, young lady?” he exclaimed. 

“Rienzi — Ivanilla Ilienzi; my father is Guiseppe Rienzi, 
the architect.” 

The dark, wild face grew dingy white; it showed such 
consternation and heavy anger, that I stood transfixed with 
surprise; a thousand fears, banished for a season by the 
peaceful scenes in which we had taken refuge, rushed" back 
into my heart. 

“ Who are you, sir,” I demanded. 

“ The gardener at Silverlea, miss,” he answered, in a 
stifled voice. 

“Your name?” I continued, anxiously. 

He affected not to hear me; picked up his roller and 
walked on. 

“ What is your name?” I repeated, more imperatively, 
slowly keeping step with him. 


152 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


“ Ralph Morecombe,” he threw the name at me, as a dog 
emits a snarl at losing a bone. 

“ And have you ever heard of us before?” 

“ What makes you think such a thing, Miss Ivanilla 
Rienzi?” 

“No one ever greeted a stranger, or a friend, as you 
have greeted me. You are an enemy — and why?” 

I steadily escorted him along the grassy sweep, secretly 
trembling with sick consternation, but outwardly firm. 

He trudged on, dumb as a stone, until the last of the 
grass was pressed down ; then he turned on me, a cold 
fury in his eyes which well might make me tremble. 

“Look here, miss,” he said between his teeth; “I 
don’t advise you to run your neck into any noose that you 
can’t run it out of again — it’s dangerous. Better see 
nothing, and say less!” 

“ I do not understand you, sir,” I responded, “ but I 
shall find means to understand you, and have your position 
here looked into; sir, you will have to explain your threats.” 

“ Ha, ha! a fool’s colt is soon shot! By-by, missy!” 

I retreated hastily through the orchard, making no 
answer to his taunting words; in fact, too terrified to speak. 

“ Who is that man in the orchard?” I asked impetuously 
of the housekeeper, as I entered the kitchen. 

“ A man in the orchard? Oh, I suppose you mean old 
Ralph the gardener.” 

“ Who is he?” 

“ Well, he’s just — he’s just old Ralph, the gardener,” 
said Mrs. Haller, with a puzzled look. 

“Where does he come from?” 

“ I can’t rightly tell you, miss ; from everywheres, I do 
believe; he’s more like the Wandering Jew than anything 
else, I’m sure.” 

“ What is his other name?” 

“Morton — Motley — no, Morecombe, I believe. He’s a 
surly old chap. Hope he didn’t frighten you, miss?” 

“How long has he been here, Mrs. Haller?” 

“He came with the last tenant; let me see. All last 
winter he was here off and on.” 

“ Oh, Mrs. Haller, who was the last tenant?” 

“Mrs. Ringwood, miss, from Vermont, if I recollect 
right ; a pious, good lady, if ever there was one; and yet a 
queer one.” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


153 


“ Tell me how.” 

“ Well, miss, I’ll tell you all about it ” 

‘‘Mrs. Haller!” 

I sprang aside with a scream. Ralph was at my elbow 
looking at the housekeeper with a lurid scowl. 

“ I have cut my hand — come and bind it up.” 

“Good lack!” muttered the old woman; “whatever set 
the man to chopping up his hands — jist when there’s some 
use for them!” 

She hurried to a drawer and picked out some linen rags, 
while the gardener started out again, and waited in the 
court-yard, leaning against the well. 

“I hope it ain't bad,” said Mrs. Haller ; “for I do hate 
idle men around, like pison.” 

I stood beside the sputtering oven and gazed intently 
through the window, as she followed the man out. 

Ralph still kept his hand thrust into his bosom, and im- 
patiently elbowed her away when she extended her band- 
age; then he began to speak with angry, threatening ges- 
tures, and from astonishment, Mrs. Haller's face changed 
to something very like anger, and she gave her muslin frills 
an indignant toss and turned to enter the kitchen; but the 
man clutched her by the shoulder, and with the sudden 
glare of a wild beast at the window, dragged her out of 
sight, and I ceased to hear even their voices. 

I stood alone in the cheery kitchen, a cowering, dis- 
comfited pain in my heart, which robbed me of all courage. 

In ten minutes Mrs. Haller came in, and very, very 
quietly slipped about her work for some minutes, saying 
nothing. Her kindly old face was grave and pale; her 
hands trembled a little in spite of her. 

“ Was the cut very deep?” I asked in covert scorn. 

“Oh, no, miss — oh, no,” she answered, with unnecessary 
earnestness. 

“Will you please tell me the rest about Mrs. Ringwood, 
noAv?” I remarked, not daring to look up. 

A low sigh heaved Mrs. Haller's bosom. 

“There's nothing to tell; I hadn’t ought to have said 
anything, my dear,” she said, very quietly. 

“ Perhaps it is something which concerns us?” I per- 
sisted. 

“ No, nothing, miss. Please don’t ask me nothing; that’s 


154 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


a dreadful man! There’s a pitcher of milk for you and the 
sick young lady, and tumblers. Shall I carry it in?” 

“ 1 wili carry them myself, Mrs. Haller. Thank you.” 

Obeying the hint, I betook myself to the parlor. 

The sun glimmered in through the hanging wreaths, as 
before ; my father lounged on the piazza with the same 
contented ease; my sweet sister reclined on the little sofa 
between them, gazing with satisfied eyes into the heart of 
the vernal glades; I only carried gloom and fear in my 
bosom, for the serpent had stolen into my paradise. 

“What’s the matter with our little gipsy?” cried my father, 
peeping in at me, “ has she got a fright cow milking?” 

“ If I did, I secured the milk;” I answered with an at- 
tempt at gayety. “See, my sister, this is a specimen of 
true milk — warranted pure from chalk and water.” 

“ You look weary, sister,” said Isolina, looking up into 
my pale, depressed face, “let me fan you awhile, and lie on 
this sofa — the heat has been too much for you.” 

“ Bah!” I answered, laughing, “the heat never makes me 
ill. I never suffered heat when the sirocco blew most burn- 
ingly in Italy.” 

“But there is something the matter,” said my mother, 
seeing me clearly for the first time. 

“ A raven croaked at me in the orchard,” I answered, 
meeting her anxious regards with a smiling look. 

Very soon I found myself out on the piazza, behind my 
father’s chair. 

“ Come with me until I tell you something.” I murmured. 

We slowly paced together to the end of the piazza, and 
leaned over the pretty railing. 

“ Papa, we are not safe even at Silverlea,” I began; “ the 
only two people who are here are in league against us.” 

“Nonsense, child! Why, you poor little girl, you are 
getting so nervous and fanciful that I shall soon be alarmed 
about you. That fright you got at home was bad for you, 
Iva.” 


“ Papa, listen to me,” I repeated, with tearful earnestness. 
“ We are not safe here. There is a gardener here whom you 
must see — he is connected with — with our enemies. There 
was a Mrs. Ringwood living in this house last winter; I am 
sure she was connected with our enemies; there is a photo- 
graph of grandmamma’s house in Venice, in the basket of 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


155 


one of the statues within that drawing-room; does that look 
like mere accident?’* 

“ My dear child, you perfectly astonish me! You seem 
to have plunged into the midst of conspiracies.” 

I told him the different causes of my alarm. 

“ You are not alarmed without cause apparently,” he 
said, when I had finished; “ still there may be some misap- 
prehension. Perhaps the surly dog meant nothing; per- 
haps Mrs. Haller, who really seems a most respectable 
woman, was silent on the subject of Mrs. Ringwood from 
other causes than those your terrors suggest. This matter 
can be quickly sifted.” 

He went back for his hat and let himself out to the gar- 
den, with the determination of at once confronting the 
gardener. 

Disconsolately I drooped over the little gate, my face 
buried in mv hands. Tnis haunting terror had come back 
to me like Faust’s Evil One, and was dragging me into hor- 
rors from which mv fainting heart crawled loathingly. All 
the brightness of Silverlea was hateful to me; that dread 
face, with the passionate eyes for blood seemed lurking 
under every tree; it danced before me with mocking sneers 
on the pale, curled lips, and a voiceless whisper rushed like 
a molten stream of lead into my brain which chanted: 

“ My oath is fulfilled /” 

A hand rested on my shoulder; I cowered down with a 
shriek of agony, and my excited brain almost turned. 

“ My dear child, are you afraid of me?” 

It was my father, back again; grave enough by this time, 
but gazing pitifully down at me, and. evidently amazed at 
my agitation. 

“ Be more calm, Ivanilla,” he said raising me and ten- 
derly pressing me to his bosom; “ there is really no cause 
for such mortal terror; we may have enemies, but Heaven 
has saved us hitherto; ask Him to save us still, my daugh- 
ter.” 

“ You are back very soon, papa.” 

“ He has gone to the village to get something mended at 
the blacksmith’s, Mrs. Haller tells me. Dear, 1 don’t think 
we are authorized in molesting the housekeeper; she is a 
very conscientious person, and I am sure would not wrong 
us. She has given me to understand that Morecombe 
warned her not to speak of Mrs. Ringwood, because the lady 


156 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


was in some political intrigue. The truth is, I believe in 
my own heart she is a rebel spy, or some such thing, and we 
have nothing to do with her intrigues. I shall sound your 
bugbear Morecombe when he returns." 

But Ralph Morecombe did not return; day after day 
passed on, and the gardener’s place was still unoccupied. 
Our servants came down from the city, and located them- 
selves; a boy was hired, at first by the day, to do the gar- 
dener’s work, then for a month, and no one came to dis- 
place him. 

After a week my father had to go to the city, summoned 
thence by Mr. Speingle, and we were left alone at Silverlea. 

Alone and unmolested, the most perfect peace and se- 
curity reigned here. Time stole on, and touched my dis- 
turbed heart with balm; I began to breathe more freely as 
the days went on; my dark fears had proved groundless. 

I became in a measure happy in our charming Silverlea 
with my beloved mother and sister. It was joy itself to 
me to lead Isolina daily to some farther point of interest in 
onr sylvan retreat, and to comfort her shadowed life through 
Nature’s loveliness. 


CHAPTER XX. 

I CRY “ WOLF” ONCE MORE. 

“ In your eye there is death, 

There is frost in your breath, 
***** 

So keep where you are; you are foul with sin; 

She would shrink to the earth if you came in.” 

Tennyson. 

Strangely intermingled with the tender life I lived with 
my sister, was the weary life I hid from her. 

I had a restless spirit which could not be laid wholly, 
however secure we seemed to be ; I was forever watching, 
sometimes placidly, sometimes feverishly, always vigilantly. 

Every evening, when the heat of the day* was over, I 
rode out on horseback, accompanied by Nelson. Dr. Graves 
had been to see Isolina, and Dr. Graves had ordered that it 
should be so, after studying me sharply for some time. 

This exercise formed in me a habit which no one could 
wholly account for, nor could I account for it myself. No 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


157 


matter how fair the scenery was in the direction of Shirley 
Sands or the Cat’s Head hills, I always shaped my course 
round the village road in time to meet the evening train 
from New York. 

I watched every arrival with jealous eyes, and became as 
regular a visitor to the Ranelagh Station as the urchins who 
loafed under the butternut tree at the corner, with a per- 
sistence which seemed half insane. 

Sometimes I was ashamed of this habit, when strangers 
stared curiously at me, but notwithstanding this, and 
owing to some inward promptings, I never broke my tryst 
with the evening train. 

One evening, to my unutterable confusion, my eager 
watching was rewarded by seeing my lover alight from the 
car. The urchins all grouped and gazed congratulatingly 
at me, when the handsome gentleman handed his valise to 
Nelson, to ride home with, and walked slowly by my side, 
his hand on my saddle-bow. 

It was very gratifying to have all the youths in Ranelagh 
rejoice that my long waiting was at last successful. 

Mr. Lindhurst had come down to spend a day with us, 
having left his business with his clever young clerk “ to take 
a trip to Eden,” as he flatteringly declared. 

“But I do not find my little Iva looking well,” he said, 
regarding me with far too close a scrutiny for my nervous 
face to bear unmoved; “ darling, how weary — how feverish 
you are! Why, love?” 

I hid my groundless, womanish fears, for I was ashamed 
of them ; and I told him, gayly, he had brought the medi- 
cine. So we walked home by the beach, and the moon 
sailed up to smile blandly upon us, and my imprisoned 
heart swelled more freely for a space, in the love of the man 
who was dearest to me. 

His visit passed so quickly; the hours fled on winged feet, 
while he soothed and comforted us all, and ministered to 
my sister with the tenderness of a brother; I forgot to 
tremble with sick fears at every sudden sound, and clung to 
him with almost childish dependence. 

Once more the sun sank behind the hills; that mystic 
hour which oft has marked the dark events of this history; 
that hour whose approach called me from the most engross- 
ing employment to the watch. 

I had been playing to my sister and Ernest on the little 


158 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


piano; but glancing at the clock I started up, as affrighted 
as Cinderella when the enchanted hour was striking. 

“ I must go,” I exclaimed. 

“ Out to-night?” said Isolina; “ oh, need you go to-night? 
Take a double gallop to-morrow when Ernest is not here.” 

“ Sister,” I muttered, almost tragically, “ let me go.” 

“But you are weary with walking so long on the beach 
this afternoon. Dear Ivanilla, I am sure you should not 
go out to-night. If Dr. Graves saw you how he would 
make you lie down.” 

I stood the picture of dumb obstinacy, gazing from face 
to face. 

“You are determined to go?” said Ernest, in a low 
voice. 

“ Must!” I whispered. 

“Will you walk? It would be half an hour before the 
horses were ready.” 

“ Yes, yes; I will walk.” 

“A walk in the cool sea-breeze may do her good,” said 
Ernest, turning quietly to Isolina. “I think with you, 
that riding is too violent an exercise after her fatigue — she 
shall walk with me.” 

I darted from the room and flung on my hat and scarf, 
and casting one fond, remorseful look on Isolina’s wistful 
face, I turned away from the door, my escort by my side. 

I led my lover the shortest way over the sands to Dane- 
lagh Village; the tide had crawled in and was full; I did not 
care; in my blind hurry I scrambled over rocks and clung 
to crumbling banks, which, were this not the charmed 
hour, would have been impassable barriers to me. Ernest 
followed, . sometimes catching me back from a whirling wave, 
sometimes swinging me over the slippery rocks. Conversa- 
tion under such circumstances was impossible. 

At last we reached the road which led straight into the 
village, and, panting with our wild scramble, I was glad to 
lean on my companion’s arm. 

“Now, tell me what all this means,” said Mr. Lindhurst. 

“ All what? Hist! I hear the shriek of the coming 
train.” 

“ You cannot walk so fast. I feel your heart like a 
sledge-hammer against my arm. Ivanilla, what is this ex- 
citement for?” 

“ Hush! They are coming round the curve of the hill — 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


159 


now they cross the wooden bridge — in one-half minute they 
will be here.” 

“ How can you tell so well?” 

“ Have I not watched? Come, come! We shall be late. 

“ Whom do you expect?” 

“ No one— any one. Come!” 

I was wild with excitement. I dragged him close within 
the station, and hung gasping on his arm. 

“ My darling, what can be the matter?” murmured Er- 
nest. “ I don’t like to feel you tremble like this. 1 am 

sure you are ill.” . . .... ,, 

The boys under the butternut-tree ceased imitating the 
shriek of the coming engine with their fingers to their 
mouths, and began to chatter in would-be whispers. 

“ She’s got another chap with her to-night. 

“ Wonder where the horses have gone to? 

“ Grass, likely. Who do you think she watches for? 
“Don’t know: she’s as regular here as old Jobson, the 

carrier, is at the post-office.” m 

These remarks were intensely audible to me. Whether 
my lover heard them or not, I could not tell; he was look- 
ing anxiously down at me, and not at all interested in any- 

^The evening train stopped; the few passengers stepped 
upon the platform and ran about clamoring for their iug- 

ga few, indeed, there were to reward my curiosity. 

Two farmers’ wives and a little girl dressed in calico, who 
were each saddled with a blue-spotted handkerchief bun- 
dle, and a hand-basket, and all seemed glad to see then 
native hills again. A city exquisite of blase appearance 
cigar in teeth, cane in hand, with colored gloves, the 
accurate shade of two dogs which slouched at his heels— 
who honored us with a profound stare, as he saunteied up 

^ “ There °\*s^no one else,” said I, in a depressed Toice. 

“°Yes, my love, the dew is falling, and my little girl is 

t00 He 0n |ladlvTed me off the platform for perhaps, twenty 
rods. Like Lot’s wife, I looked back, and became trs 


10C “ What has happened?” cried Ernest, 
face. 


transfixed. 

seeing my rigid 


160 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


A woman had flitted cautiously out from the station. She 
stumbled over the ill-laid platform and dashed aside her 
thick crape vail. One nioment the colorless face was 
turned to me, with a red glow of the vanished sun painting 
an unearthly scarlet upon, and streaming into two flaring, 
red -brown orbs. 

I have said I should know that face among a thousand; 

I looked upon it now. 

“ Good Heaven!” muttered Ernest, throwing his arm 
around me, “how ghostly you are! Lean on me, and I 
will take you home.” 

“ Oh, don’t let her see me,” I moaned with chattering 
teeth; “keep between us — oh, come away.” 

“What, that lady? She cannot harm you! Don’t be 
afraid.” 

We hastened on a few paces, I clinging to his arm, and 
scarcely able to pick my steps. Oh, what cruel fate had 
sent me here to face my enemy? 

But I rallied my senses with a mighty effort. 

“ Where is she, Ernest?” I asked. 

“The lady who came out of the station? She is ascending 
the steps of the hotel, and a man has just carried some lug- 
gage into the house.” 

I turned quickly. The woman was facing on the top 
steps of the balcony, a white hand shielding her eyes from 
the western light; again that female form struck horror to 
my heart; again I gasped convulsively, and my face grew 
white and hard. 

When we gained the beach-road which led up to Sil- 
verlea, and when the village was quite hidden behind the 
fir-trees, Ernest seated me on a stone by the road-side, and 
stood before me with my hands gathered firmly in his. 

“My love,” he said, gravely, “I cannot tell how your 
strange conduct through all this walk has alarmed me. 
Will you not explain it?” 

“Oh, Heaven! what shall I say?” I cried, bursting into 
hysterical tears; “where shall I begin this dreadful story? 
It bristles with horror. That woman has found us. Alas, 
she is our enemy.” 

“ My beloved girl, what is this?” said my lover, pressing 
me fondly in his arms. “You cannot mean that that per- 
son is Mrs. Beaumont, whom your father is in search of!” 

I hung on his breast speechless for a while; my self-mas- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


161 


tery was all gone; prolonged anxiety had made me weak as 
a child. I was worn out with watching for danger. 

When I could speak I told him all; his face was pale and 
quiet when I had finished. He caught me to his heart again 
and strained me tightly there. 

“ You will not leave to-night?” I moaned, piteously. 

“ No, my darling; no, no!” exclaimed my lover. “ I could 
not leave you now.” 

“ And you will not leave us until she is arrested — don’t 
protest. She will come, when the night is blackest, to poison 
us; she will come to-night!” I almost shrieked. 

“Hush, hush!” he whispered, “I will guard you, my girl. 
Nothing shall enter Silverlea unchallenged to-night.” 

He hurried me home, and confusion arose at my coming. 
I was ill, and could not hide it, and the eyes of love divined 
my powerlessness. There were hurried consultations between 
my mother and Mr. Lind hurst, and messengers were sent to 
the village; but I was too ill to notice much. 

I watched my sister with insane terror lest she should leave 
the room and fall into danger as the night advanced, and I 
implored her not to leave my side. 

“ Hush, my darling!” whispered Ernest, “see, your words 
terrify her — oh, take care!” 

Then I became as urgent that Isolina should retire to bed 
as before I had been that she should remain; for I felt the 
effort to restrain my breath killing me, and I knew that 
alarm for her might be fatal. Sophie came and took my 
sister away, and I beckoned the girl back to me and whis- 
pered, with streaming tears: 

“ Lock her door, Sophie; oh, lock the door and sleep be- 
side her!” And then I hid my face in my hands with a shud- 
der of renewed panic, for words my sister had used once in a 
thrill of terror came back to me like a spell: 

‘ ‘ Bolts and bars are nothing to her when she chooses to 
come.” 

This was the woman whom she feared; the woman who 
had slid like a vapor into my chamber, through bolts and 
bars. I felt it; I saw with a flash of conviction that the 
crisis which was to destroy us had come. 

“She comes to fulfill her vow!” I exclaimed, writhing in 
my lover’s arms. I shrieked as if a hyena were rending my 
vitals, and for the third time in my life I fainted. 

After a strange inward experience I revived, and found 


162 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


my mother’s face bending over me. Hours had passed; it 
was midnight, and I was on my mother’s bed, she alone be- 
side me. 

The unnatural strain on my feelings had passed away; I 
was able to hope for the best, instead of dwelling on the 
worst. 

“Mamma, I have been a child,” I murmured; “forgive 
me.” 

“ Thank Heaven that you have recovered!” whispered my 
mother, tremulously. “I did not know the strain which 
has been on your mind all these weeks.” 

“ Listen! What is that?” I exclaimed, sitting up. 

“ Mr. Lindhurst, my love. He is pacing the hall to-night. 
Shall I open the door and tell him that his Iva is scared by 
his footsteps? Fye, child! love must be very deaf, as well as 
blind !” 

“No, no. I shall have to listen to it. Mamina, what has 
been done? The woman ” 

Even while I spoke profound exhaustion closed my mouth; 
I sank gently back against my mother’s arm and fell asleep. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

A TRIP m THE RAIlf. 

“ A miser, seeing a mouse in liis liouse, said: ‘ What art tliou doing, 
dearest mouse, in my house?’ And the mouse, secretly smiling, replied: 
‘Fear nothing, my friend; we do not want food from you, only 
lodging.’ ” — Greek Anthology. 

When I awoke I was lying alone in my mother’s bed, the 
broad daylight shining on my face, and the sounds of Mrs. 
Haller’s kitchen, which was near, reminding me cheerfully 
of the neighborhood of human beings. 

It was nine o’clock; what a bridge of time stretched be- 
tween me and the startling events of last night! 

I hurried on my clothes and opened the door. 

Sophie was busily sweeping down the steps with a hand- 
broom. 

“ How is my sister?” I asked. 

“ Oh, are you up, miss, and better? Yes, you look bright, 
Miss Iva, dear. Miss Isolina is sleeping yet; she didn’t 
have a very good night,. I’m afraid. She was anxious about 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


163 


you, and my nose would snore, though I tried my very best 
not to let it.” 

“ I am sorry for that, Sophie, but I don’t think you can 
help it. Did you keep the door locked and sleep on the 
sofa?” 

“Yes, Miss Iva; and Mr. Lindhurst he came twice to the 
door and asked me if all was safe. Sure, miss, I don’t 
know what the panic was for. Be there burglars round?” 

“I hope not, Sophie. Where is Mr. Lindhurst?” 

“ In his room, now; he staid up all night, and your ma 
has made him go now and sleep.” 

“ Where is mamma?” 

“In the kitchen, I think, speaking to Mrs. Haller.” 

I went into the breakfast-room, and sat waiting for my 
mother to come in. 

After all, what had I to fear? This was home, and who 
could invade these sacred walls unseen? Surely I had 
turned a Machiavelli, to question with dark suspicion the 
good faith of every living creature. 

While these thoughts were occupying me, my mother en- 
tered and greeted me tenderly. There was a puzzled ex- 
pression on her face which I did not fail to notice. 

“ Mamma!” I cried, “tell me what has happened.” 

“My dear, I am at a loss what to think; you must have 
made some curious mistake last night. The truth is, the 
only lady who arrived at Stanton’s last night is Mrs. Ring- 
wood, the widow lady who staid here last winter. Nelson 
has made as many inquiries as he could in a private way, 
and it seems perfectly preposterous to molest such a person. 
She is an elderly, quiet, invalid lady, with gray hair, and 
she has quite a reputation for her charity. Mr. Stanton’s 
people spoke of her almost with veneration. She has been 
traveling for her health, and came here hoping to re-occupy 
Silverlea for the summer, quite unaware that it had been 
let to any one else. She is undecided yet whether to go 
away or try to find some house round Ranelagh which would 
suit her. The probability is that she will stay at the hotel 
some days. Now, my dear, does it not seem ridiculous for 
us to proceed in any way against a lady of Mrs. Ringwood’s 
reputed character?” 

“ All this sounds very plausible, mamma,” I responded, 
gravely, “and I confess that my convictions are staggered. 
One cannot be sure that a face seen once by the faintest of 


164 


BEA UTIFUL RIENZI. 


moonlight, and amidst the most abject terrors, would be 
recognizable again; still, I adhere to my suspicions that the 
face I saw last night is the same. And now, to shake the 
apparently strong position of this Mrs. Ringwood. Why has 
our housekeeper been forbidden to speak to us of her? How 
should an irreproachable widow lady fear the gossip of an 
old woman? You see, at the very outset, this lady conceals 
something, which proves she is not what she seems.” 

“ You reason acutely; but I have been speaking to Mrs. 
Haller of this, and from what she says, I think the poor lady 
is not to blame. Mrs. Haller is a well-meaning woman, and 
will not break a promise she made to Ralph Morecombe, 
but she gave me to understand that Mrs. Ringwood’s secret 
relates to some disgrace in the family — a son who, perhaps, is 
eluding the law — and she wished to keep the circumstances 
from the boy's friends. My dear, we have no right to pry 
into any one's private affairs without good proof of their 
identity.” 

“How probable it is that the son is Cecil Beaumont,” 
I sneered, still suspicious. “ Oh, mamma, do not deceive 
yourself. 

“ I shall not,” she answered; “but we must not be im- 
prudent. We can do nothing without proof; what a mad 
course it would be to arrest a lady like Mrs. Ringwood on 
your single accusation. No, no; we must send for your 
father and his lawyer, and consult them; perhaps at this 
very moment they have discovered the real culprit who at- 
tempted to poison you.” 

“ We shall go and call on this woman, then, mamma?” 

“ If you wish. You can then judge more calmly if your 
suspicions have any foundation; and I will surely be able 
to detect any hidden treachery, if she is, as you say, 'not 
what she seems.’ ” 

Mamma wrote a note to my father which Mr. Lindhurst 
promised to deliver, and which we expected would bring 
him down by the morrow, with Mr. Speingle, to examine 
into the cause of our pauic. 

We agreed to drive Mr. Lindhurst to the station to catch 
the midday train, and from thence mamma and I were to 
call at the hotel and see the widow lady. 

We left my sister in her chamber in company with Sophie, 
who was charged to allow no one to see her mistress un- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZ1. 


165 


til our return, and at half-past eleven we drove away from 
Silverlea. 

e It was a dismal day; white sheets of drizzle were skur- 
rifying landward over the black and leaden waves; sulien 
clouds lowered over the dripping trees, and sudden gusts 
swept the small chill rain-drops upon the carriage windows. 

My spirits sank in unison with the atmosphere, when the 
station was reached, and Ernest held my hand, bidding me 
farewell. I burst into tears. 

“ I will go back with you — I shall not leave you!” he ex- 
claimed, impulsively. 

“No, no!” I answered, restraining myself; “I am foolish. 
Farewell ! I am not afraid. Adieu, my love.” 

Tears dropping fast hid his beloved face from me. I 
turned my head to the carriage cushion, and my mother 
shut the door. In two minutes Mr. Lindhurst was rattling 
over the wooden bridge, and round the curve of the hill, 
and we were once more alone. 

“Now, shall we visit Mrs. Ringwood?” said my mother, 
gently breaking in upon my grief. “ Do you feel capable?” 

Indeed I did not; my courage had all oozed away with 
the vanishing train.” 

“We cannot go alone,” I said, imploringly. “Let us 
get Mr. Fernley to go with us. He can introduce us, you 
know.” 

And so it was decided. Nelson drove up the street and 
stopped at Mr. Fernley’s cottage, which was directly oppo- 
site “ Old Sol,” and while he knocked at the door I gazed 
at each window in turn which the hotel afforded, in hopes 
that the noise of the carriage might have attracted my in- 
cognito to the window. 

But either the lady was deaf, or exempt from the weak- 
ness of her sex; I gazed in vain. 

Presently a woman appeared at the door with a gravy 
spoon in her hand, and a half-peeled onion in the other. 

“ Is Mr. Fernley within?” asked mamma from her seat. 

“Not jest yet, ma’am." She cautiously poked her head 
out between two intermittent roof-torrents, and looked 
up and down street. “ I am looking for him every minute, 
ma’am.” 

“ What shall we do?’ said my mother, turning to me. 
“Had we not better introduce ourselves at the hotel?” 

“Oh, no!” I exclaimed, shrinking from the idea of an 


166 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


encounter without a protection; “ let us wait for the house- 
agent.” 

“Guess you’d better come in, ma’am/’ said the woman 
from the door. I still urged my mother, and we alighted. 

“Take the horses down under cover of the station,” 
said mamma to the coachman; “we may not want you 
for half an hour. We can walk across the street to the 
hotel.” 

We followed the woman into Mr. Fernley’s bachelor 
parlor. 

‘ ‘ Have you any idea how long your master may be ab- 
sent,” asked mamma. 

“ No, ma’am. I was in the kitchen when he went out 
more’n an hour ago, and I wouldn’t have know’d, only I 
hear the door slam after him, and seen his legs passing my 
window. ‘Now,’ thinks I, ‘where are you off to?’ But 
he’ll be back to dinner sure, ma’am — he never misses; and 
it’s always punctual at half-past twelve. It’s — twenty-five 
minutes past twelve by our clock. Sit down, miss; I must 
go turn my beefsteak.” 

The woman bustled away, leaving us standing in attitudes 
of impatience and indecision. 

“We may as well be patient,” said my mother, seating 
herself; “ there is nothing hurrying us.” 

I placed a chair close by the window and sat down. Some 
minutes of silence passed by, during which time my eyes re- 
verted from window to window of the opposite building, 
but I found nothing to rivet my attention. 

“Listen!” I hissed, with upraised finger. “What is 
that?” 

My mother sprang to my side and looked out. 

“ 'You can see nothing, mother — the window is rushing 
with water, and a bank of fog has rolled between us; but 
hist! Do you hear the creaking — that grit of wheels — a 
sound of feet on their wooden balcony? Heaven! why did 
we come here? Ah! I see an outline through the 
volume of obscurity; a carriage is at the door of the hotel.” 

“ Heaven grant it may not be for Mrs. Ringwood!” ejacu- 
lated my mother, with real alarm. 

“Mamma, a man is drawing the horse close to the foot 
of the steps. Now he is spreading a shawl over the seat. 1 
cannot see more; the glass is dense with steam and rain. 
Ah ! I have wiped the pane; now we can see better. Mother, 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


167 


mother! the lady is mounting into the carriage. The woman 
— mine. Oh, mother, they have dashed off — we have lost 
her.” 

“ Call Nelson,” said my mother, turning white. 

I rushed to the door and looked down the street; already 
had the carriage passed the station; it was flying up the 
road to Silverlea. I flew out heedless of the heavy rain, 
and almost knocked a man down, who was stepping across 
the wide ditch in front of the house. 

“ Hallo!” cried Mr. Fernley. “ What’s all the hurry for, 
madam ?” 

“Oh, sir, who is that? What lady was that who drove 
away ?” 

“ What lady? Mrs. Ringwood, who has kept me with 
her all ” 

I darted away, leaving him staring with astonishment. 

The station was full of loungers, to whom Nelson was 
displaying the perfection of his bays. 

“ Out with the carriage, and dash up to Fernley’s,” I 
muttered at his elbow, then sprang in. 

Without a word he mounted, whirled round the vehicle, 
and obeyed me to the letter. Mr. Fernley had just gained 
his own door step, and he turned with a concerned expres- 
sion of face to look at the arrival. At the same moment 
the door opened from within and my mother appeared. 

“Good morning, Mr. Fernley,” she said, calmly, shaking 
hands. “ I was about to call on Mrs. Ringwood — has she 
gone?” 

“How unfortunate. She had important business at 
Shirley and had to go in spite of the weather. Can’t 
I •” 

“ Probably she will call at Silverlea during our absence,” 
cried my mother in an agitation which she could not con- 
ceal. “ We shall follow her. Good-morning again, sir.” 

She took her seat, and Nelson slammed-shut the door. 

“Home!” she said, flinging herself back, and the car- 
riage moved off, leaving the bewildered house agent stand- 
ing under the double stream of roof-drops, expostulating. 

As soon as we had cleared the village. Nelson drove on at 
a rate which made the carriage windows rattle in their 
frames; and the trees rotate like dancing dervishes. 

In two minutes we were at the gate of Silverlea, and 


168 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


Nelson opened the door. His face was glowing, and his 
voice animated; our excitement had infected him. 

“ Shall I drive home, or straight on? The little buggy 
is just ahead down in the next hollow. I could catch up in 
ten minutes, ma’am.” 

“Straight on, then,” said my mother, without a mo- 
ment’s hesitation. “ We must see the lady in the carriage.” 

He sprang to his seat, and Silverlea vanished from my 
eyes. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

A WILD-GOOSE CHASE. 

“ God gave you that tongue of yours, and set it between your teeth 
to make known your true meaning, not to be rattled like a muffin- 
man’s bell.” — Carlyle. 

A train left Shirley Sands, at half-past one, and from the 
haste in which the carriage was flying it seemed as if the 
lady intended to elude us by catching the train; we had six 
miles to go, from the gate of Silverlea; it was a quarter to 
one, now. 

On, on! down into a hollow, where the surly blast sud- 
denly missed us, and howled over our heads in the upper 
current; then out on the long sand beach, and through the 
crawling foam by a short cut, and up a long hill before we 
came in sight again of the pursued. 

“ What are they doing?” cried my mother, dropping the 
front window; “ do they seem to see us. Nelson?” 

“ Don’t know, ma’am; they keep too snug. Can’t see 
nothing, ma’am, but a big, black umbrella, and the little 
horse a-spanking it!” 

He urged on the already excited bays, and slowly, imper- 
ceptibly, we gained upon the buggy. 

“ She is without doubt trying to escape us!” ejaculated 
my mother, after watching speechlessly; “and oh, horrors! 
she may be successful! We are but a mile from Shirley 
Sands; and it is twenty minutes past one. She has but to 
rush into the station, secure a ticket, and be away before 
our very eyes!” 

I wrung my hands and gazed forth. 

The piercing shriek of the coming train broke through 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


169 


the dense air in close proximity; not half a mile stretched 
between ns and the station at Shirley Sands. 

“Quick, Nelson! Fate, fate!” I shrieked, tapping on 
the window. 

Again he lashed the now infuriated horses, and we 
plunged madly through the deep, shifting sand. 

Still we gained upon them, but slowly — too slowly. One 
long hill to climb — the buggy was at the top; one long de- 
scent to the next valley, and Shirley would be reached. 

The dripping horses broke into a reckless canter up the 
hill, and the fitful sheets of rain swept down — a dreary, des- 
perate picture. We gained the summit; but our will-o’-the- 
wisp had disappeared. 

Down in the valley nestled a small, confused cluster of 
houses, some maple trees, an arch of in-coming ocean, a 
long station house, with a grimy engine protruding, which 
emitted black volumes of smoke and puffs of shrieking 
steam. 

Down we rushed recklessly, with a crunching of our 
wheels, like thunder on the rocky hill-side. Nelson’s sharp 
eye marked the fresh wheel-tracks, and, without hesitation, 
he dashed into the station, wdiere a confused mass of ve- 
hicles were wedged together upon the narrow platform. 

“No time to lose,” he cried, banging open the door, 
“ train off in one minute. There’s your man behind that 
load of hay — don’t see lady nowhere.” 

We alighted and followed Nelson through a throng of 
shouting guards, grumbling farmers, and backing vehicles, 
in safety to the other end of the open building, where the 
buggy stood, and the little brown horse, with his nostrils 
dilated and foam-flecked, hung his head and snorted at his 
feet. 

Beside the carriage stood a man, clad in a rough dread- 
naught, and slouch hat. Iiis hands were thrust into his 
pockets; his head was slightly bent forward, with a singu- 
larly crafty air; his eyes were peering from underneath the 
shadow of his hat, luminous and startling; he was softly 
whistling, and watching our difficult approach with calm 
triumph. 

Not until we were confronting him did 1 recognize Balph 
Morecombe, the runaway gardener. 

“ What, did you drive her here?” I exclaimed, starting 
back. “ Renegade, where is your mistress?” 


170 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


“Hush!” murmured my mother, “who is this person?” 

“ The man who absconded from Silverlea— Ralph More- 
combe.” 

“ Be kind enough to direct me where to find Mrs. Ring- 
wood/’ said my mother, temperately. “ I should like to 
see her before the train leaves Shirley Sands.” 

The man slowly shifted his regards from my face, and 
honored her with a slight wave of the hand toward his drip- 
ping hat. 

“ Madam, if it’s Mrs. Ringwood you want, she’s ” 

“Quick — out with it!” I'hissed, impetuously. 

“ Not here,” he concluded, turning to me with an un- 
pleasant sparkle in his coal-black orbs. 

“ I implore you, patience, I vanilla!” whispered my mother, 
drawing me back. “ Do you mean that she is not at Shir- 
ley Sands?” this to the sneering villain himself. 

“I said that, ma’am,” he responded. 

“It’s false, then!” I stormed; “she left Stanton’s Hotel 
with you, and we have not lost sight of you since.” 

“ Miss Rienzi is mistaken. Mrs. Ringwood did leave 
Stanton’s Hotel with me, but — ” here he made a long, de- 
liberate pause and stroked his long, grizzled beard, and eyed 
us with a gradually deepening smile, as the engine gave one 
last shriek and suddenly moved out of the station with its 
train of carriages. “ But,” he resumed, “ Mrs. Ringwood 
did not come all the way with me; I left her on the road. 
Sorry to give you such a drive for nothing.” 

He moved off and began to mount into his buggy, but 
Nelson stepped to the horse’s head and grasped the reins. 

“ Not yet, mister,” he growled; “ my mistress hasn’t given 
you leave yet, as I’ve heard. Step out, old chap.” 

And step out he did, for Nelson had the best of it with 
the excitable animal rearing in his grasp and ready to dash 
down upon the railway track, carriage and all, whenever 
liberty should come. 

“ All right,” said Morecombe, with a sinister satisfaction, 
as he settled himself against the wall and folded his arms; 
“ I’ll wait as long as the ladies like.” 

“ Where is Mrs. Ringwood?” asked my mother, firmly 
controlling her feelings of indignation; “tell me, if you 
please, if she went off in the cars which have just left?” 

“No, madam.” 

“You wretch, tell me the truth!” cried I, trembling be- 


BE A UTIFUL BIENZL 


171 


tween anger and the fear that we had in some way been out- 
witted. 

He stared at me with a smile of detestable insolence, but 
said nothing. 

“ My child, you will have to leave me with this man a few 
minutes,” said my mother, entreatingly. “Your feelings 
are carrying you beyond prudence.” 

“What does he mean, then?” I exclaimed, choking with 
apprehension. “Where has he put Mrs. Ring wood?” 

The man stood immovable and unconcerned, with that in- 
tolerable smile on his face, and his features fixed. My anger 
rose beyond all barriers of prudence; I darted close to him 
and shook his arm, in the intensity of my indignation. 

“Villain!” I ejaculated, “you shall answer for the crimes 
of your mistress, if she escapes — remember that!” 

His face slowly changed, and became absorbed. 

“ What crimes?” he asked, drawing back. 

“Oh, you will ruin all!” breathed my mother, drawing 
me away. 

My passion cooled, and I saw my own imprudence. 

‘ ‘ Mr. Morecombe, I ask you once more where your mis- 
tress is?” said my mother. 

“ You passed her on the road, madam.” 

“ Explain yourself,” said my mother, patiently. 

“ Mrs. Ringwood is at Silverlea.” 

“At Silverlea!” she grew whiter than the dank mist out- 
side. 

I felt my flaming heart grow cold as the winter wind. 

“ How can that be?” I asked, in a low voice; “ did we not 
see you all the way from Ranelagh to this place?” 

“Not all the way, Miss Rienzi; not when my mistress 
alighted at the Silverlea gate and walked up to see Mrs. 
Rienzi and her daughters, who unfortunately are not all at 
home. Oh, not all the way!” 

This allusion to the state of affairs at Silverlea almost 
frenzied us with consternation. 

“ Why did you not tell us this when you saw us pass the 
house?” 

“A servant, madam, only obeys orders.” 

“But apparently you have no business to do at Shirley.” 

“I have done the business,” said the crafty villain, mov- 
ing off; “and now ma’am, if there’s nothing else you would 
like to know about Mrs. Ringwood, I’ll go back to her.” 


172 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ You shall wait until we have preceded you,” I cried. 

He did not heed me; with a sudden spring forward he 
wrenched the reins out of Nelson’s hands and led the horse 
out of the building, muttering, as he did so, words which I 
could not hear. 

Just as his foot was on the step he was laid flat on the 
sandy road by one blow from our lusty coachman’s fist. 

“ Lie there, ye old scoundrel!” he said, coolly securing the 
horse to an iron ring. Then he led out our carriage, and 
held the door open for us. 

“ Oh, Nelson!” exclaimed my mother, in deep distress, “I 
wish you had not touched him.” 

“ Couldn’t help it, ma’am,” said Nelson, respectfully 
touching his hat; “ he called our Miss Ivanilla a viperous 
little cuss and be hanged to him; he may be thankful I 
didn’t twist his old whirlbones into splinters.” 

“ Go and see if he is hurt. Nelson.” 

“Couldn’t see it, nohow, mistress. Sorry to disobey ye, 
but it’s not for them varmin to be coddled. Humph! the 
old coon is getting up, bad luck to him, and I must drive 
on.” 

He clambered into his seat and passed close by the pros- 
trate man; he was now on his knees, his hat a crushed mass 
under one knee; his long grizzled hair flowing down each 
cheek; his lips white and working with rage; his eyes glar- 
ing with the terrible passion of a wolf before the spring. 
He waved his arms wildly as we passed, and shook his 
clutched fist. 

“Ah, accursed vipers! wretches! I will be revenged!” he 
shrieked, shrilly as a maniac, in Italian. 

Ralph Morecombe was an Italian. 

We were now dashing up the hill from 'Shirley Sands, 
and we sat side by side grasping each other’s hands and 
writhing with a sense of a disastrous defeat. 

I marked the slow recurring milestones in an agony of 
dread presentiment; misery reduced us to silence. 

Nelson made good progress, though the horses were 
somewhat blown by the heavy roads; we soon became aware 
by the increased speed that we were taking our turn in 
being pursued. The grit of the light wheels came closer 
and closer; if Morecombe could dash past us he was de- 
termined to do it. 

We had reached a high part of the road, built up from 


beautiful rienzl 


173 


the encroaching sea, with a high water-bar of rocks on 
either side; and here while I watched breathlessly from the 
window, I saw more than once the beautiful head of the 
little brown horse, whose fiery nostrils were distended, and 
his eyes glowing with ambition to head us. Just where the 
road was narrowest. Nelson drew up square in the middle 
of it and stood up. 

“Look here, old chap, ” he cried, brandishing his whip, 
“ this here stick’s well loaded, and whenever the nose of 
that beast comes near enough I’ll drop it like a stun be- 
tween his eyes — so do as ye like.” 

Down he sat again and drove on deliberately; but 
though the road became wide enough to admit two abreast, 
Mrs. Ringwood’s man kept well to the rear for the rest of 
the way. 

The rain slowly abated, the wind moaned over the surg- 
ing tide and slowly veered to the west; at last the white 
walls of pretty Silverlea gleamed through its leafy covering, 
and the spent horses trotted up to the door. 

The shallow steps which led up from terrace to hanging 
garden, and every grand walk was rushing down its little 
stream of rain' drops, like the silver tinkle of bells in a fairy 
revel; the flowers, fresh washed, and perfumed, raised 
themselves stiff and tall, with painted petals blooming 
joyously in the struggling sunlight. 

Never had Silverlea looked more lovely, more innocent 
and happy; it was the garden of Eden before the serpent 
blighted its glory. And now for the home we had left so 
sacred. 

A strange hush pervaded the cottage, and this listening 
hush struck terror to my heart. 

Sophie came down the stairs; and there was that in her 
face which seemed to be asking forgiveness for a wrong 
committed. 

“ Where is Miss Isolina?” asked my mother. 

“ Indeed, ma’am and I couldn’t help it!” said the girl 
with a courtesy; “there’s a lady in the drawing-room, and 
Miss Isolina she would go to see her, and she’s been there 
an hour and more!” 

My mother instantly turned to the room designated, and 
entered. I could not follow yet; profound terror nailed me 
to the spot, while I listened for some outcry from that 
fateful room. None came; the low murmur of voices caught 


174 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


my ear; Sophie quietly drew off my hat and cloak; my 
gloves remained on my hands, and I did not dream of re- 
moving them. 

“Miss Iva, I hope you’re not angry,” said the girl; “I 
couldn’t keep her when she would go down!” 

I saw Ralph Morecombe fastening his horse before the 
door, and the dread of meeting him aroused me from my 
indecision. 

With a scarlet flush mounting to my cheeks, I entered 
the room. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

MRS. RING WOOD. 

Fly, O my child, fly ! ! * * * 

Instant death threatens thee, and swift as light 
Will the stroke fall; the traitor’s toils are laid; 

The poison in its gay glass sparkles bright! — Tasso. 

“And this is your youngest daughter?” 

It was a small, sinewy hand, which held mine, a hand 
with long, clinging fingers which stealthily seemed to 
wreathe round mine with a sudden pressure, which, despite 
my glove, sent a thousand shafts of mysterious flame 
through my system, as if fire had been struck between us; it 
was a tall figure in black which stood before me, with a 
face bending downward in a gaze which I could not meet. 
I bowed silently, and turned away. My mother was 
stationed near the window; Isolina sat within the arm of the 
sofa, and by her side I placed myself. 

Now I could lift my eyes to Mrs. Ringwood’s face; she 
was not looking at me. Could such a face accompany such 
a hand? 

It was mild and elderly; with some benign wrinkles on 
the forehead, and around the mouth; the lips were pale; 
the hair banded low on either cheek, and as white as' if 
India’s clime had bleached it; the eyes which could have 
told perhaps what all the rest denied, were protected by 
blue optic-glasses, and whether they were gray, blue, or 
lurid brown like those of the midnight murderess I could 
not tell. 

In all points this lady upon whom I was gazing seemed 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


175 


so quiet, orderly, and timid a woman as any to be met with- 
in the holy pale of church membership. In fine, though my 
whole being was thrilling with one of those preternatural 
fits of shuddering to which I am subject, I could not even 
to myself say — This is she? 

My obsorbing study was broken upon by my sister’s 
strange caressing of my hand; she had drawn off my glove, 
and was now pressing my fingers in her own with almost in- 
sane eagerness. 

I turned and looked at her. 

What horror — what fear was this? What strong repres- 
sion on the rigid lips? What death-like pallor over the 
whole face? 

Could that bland widow lady cause such dire emotions? 
Dark distrust blazed up in my heart in spite of all her 
seeming. 

“Who is that woman?” I whispered, passionately; “tell 
me — fear nothing!” She only carried my hand to her lips, 
and gazed with furtive entreaty toward the sweetly smiling 
visitor, who at every movement, turned her face toward the 
cause, with a quickness which reminded me oddly of a bird 
of prey. 

She had been speaking ever since I came in, but it was 
only the commonplace of ceremony which she uttered; noth- 
ing could have been more polite, proper, or amiable than 
the phrases which she was mildly wading through. ’ My 
mother answered by signs. 

Did my ears deceive me, or did I indeed detect the 
slightest accent of a foreign language on the lady’s tongue? 
Do ladies from Vermont pronounce with an Italian accent? 

“I have spent a very pleasant afternoon with Miss 
Rienzi,” said Mrs. Ringwood, turning her blue glasses 
toward the sofa; “I am charmed with such an acquaint- 
anceship.” 

My sister started, and fixed her eyes on the face of the 
widow lady as if she was fascinated, then rose to her feet, 
and as suddenly sank back again, taking my hand and con- 
vulsively pressing it. 

“ I am astonished to see how the time has slipped past,” 
continued Mrs. Ringwood, with a shade more of decis- 
ion in her voice than there seemed occasion for; “and 
that it is almost three o’clock. Why! how the time has 
flown!” 


176 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


“ I am sorry we have kept you waiting so long,” said my 
mother; “it is a long drive to Shirley Sands.” 

The lady bowed and turned with a peculiarly determined 
manner to Isolina, as if she were silently demanding some- 
thing. The agitated girl again half rose, aud with sudden 
malice I directed a deliberate stare at the optic glasses, and 
pulled her back. 

“ Pardon me,” said my mother, suddenly breaking the 
silence, “but have we not met before, Mrs. Ringwood?” 

A short pause followed this abrupt question; then came 
the lady’s reply, in a mild, bland voice. 

“ I do not know, I am sure, dear Mrs. Rienzi. Perhaps 
you have been in Vermont?” 

“ No, I have never been in Vermont?” 

“ I have lived all my life there until within the last few 

months. My dear husband died ” this with a deep sigh, 

“and home was home for me no more.” 

A delicate handkerchief with a deep black border was 
carried to the pale lips, and received the sigh. The rest 
of the face looked for a subtle instant, as if a sneer had dis- 
torted it. 

“ Do you remember where we met before?” 

I said it in Italian, and walked slowly up to the lady, un- 
til my foot was on the very hem of her dress. No human 
being can conceive the secret terror with which I approached 
her, and forced myself to speak to her; but I stood my 
ground with clenched hands before her. 

For one instant her head was raised with a startled look; 
her features changed to dull gray, then a flash of dusky red; 
I could have sworn those benign wrinkles were cunningly 
simulated with a pencil dipped in sepia; they belied so 
much the tigerish grit of those white teeth; but the next 
moment her regards were turned to my mother with an air 
of gentle appeal. 

“ What did the young lady say?” she murmured; “I think 
she seems distressed.” 

My mother would have answered, but at that moment a 
bell rang, and a sudden thought seemed to strike her. 

“There is the bell for luncheon; allow me to remove your 
bonnet, Mrs. Ringwood; you have fasted, I dare say, as long 
as we have.” 

I gazed in astonishment at my mother. What! ask her 
to break the bread of friendship under our roof?” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


177 


“ I will be glad to take a little refreshment with you,” 
said Mrs. Ringwood, frankly; “but I cannot remove my 
bonnet; I have overstaid my time beyond the most ex- 
tended call. I see my faithful creature out there waiting 
me.” 

My mother rang the bell and directed the luncheon tray 
to be brought in. 

“Your servant, Morecombe, is an Italian?” she asked, 
quietly. 

“Yes — yes, I believe so,” minced the lady pleasantly; 
“ poor creature, he is everything 1 believe, but a most de- 
voted soul!” 

It was evident this lady did not intend to be unmasked; 
she was perfectly able to hold her own against two such 
foes. 

Mrs. Haller came in, carrying a tray, which she set on 
the center-table ; then turned with a respectful courtesy, 
to leave the room. 

“ Stay,” cried Mrs. Ringwood, rising, and holding the 
old woman’s wrinkled hand lightly with the fingers of her 
left hand ; “ I did not ask you when I saw you before, how 
my poor people are?” 

I confess my suspicions seemed somewhat ridiculous as I 
listened to Mrs. Haller’s account of old Jobson, the carrier’s, 
rheumatism, which had never come back since that bottle of 
opodeldoc, and of Mrs. Dawson’s white swelling; and how 
the Hopper family all went to Sunday-school, now, in the 
clothes she made for them ; and how the Widow Rey- 
nolds missed her tracts and tea, with sundry other bits of 
charitable gossip which contrasted as incongruously with 
the desperate character which I assigned to this woman. 
Meantime my mother busied herself in pouring wine into 
four glasses and bearing them on the tray, while she re- 
moved a dish of cold fowl to a smaller table in the window, 
and leisurely commenced to carve it. 

As she did so she leveled one intense glance at me, then 
almost turned her back to the visitor and went on carving. 

That glance said as plain as eves could express it — 

“ Watch !’ y 

Then, indeed, I began to understand, and to admire my 
mother’s sagacity. Mrs. Haller at last left the room; Mrs. 
Ringwood drew near the table and sat down. As she did 
so her long vail fell forward between me and the glasses of 


178 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


wine. In an instant it was swept gracefully to one side, 
and the lady was sitting back in her chair with her hands 
folded in her lap. 

Had she done it ? 

My cheeks blanched white ; my eyes glittered with ex- 
citement. Now to manage my part. 

I rose and lifted the tray with the four glasses upon it, 
and offered it to Mrs. Ringwood. 

“ Nothing but a glass of wine!” she said, smiling pleas- 
antly. 

She engaged my eyes, but I was not unconscious that she 
had lifted one glass and slightly designated another, by 
striking it with the glass she was lifting, while she turned 
those mystically hidden orbs toward the sofa. 

At that my sister clasped her hands and fell back gasp- 
ing. 

I resolved to see the meaning of this signal. I carried 
the tray to my sister. She shook her head and waved me 
away wildly. 

I lifted the marked glass and placed it on the mantel- 
piece; the other two I carried to my mother. 

She lifted one and set it beside her; I came back with the 
trav, and took the last glass in my hands. 

Now, all my suspicions were centered in the marked 
glass, which I had placed on the mantel-piece. I was think- 
ing how nicely we had her in our power, if I could succeed 
in saving that glass. While thus 1 pondered, I raised my 
wine to my lips. 

A sudden shriek broke from my sister. She sprang with 
the swiftness of light to my side, and dashed the vessel from 
my hands. 

“ Oh, mother, mother ! too much !” she cried, and fell at 
my feet among the fragments of broken glass, and wave of 
ruby wine. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


179 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

A NEW FACE AT THE DOOR. 

“ Be near me when my light is low — 

When the blood creeps, and the nerves prick 
And tingle; and the heart is sick, 

And all the wheels of being slow.”— T ennyson. 

“Lock the door, mother!” I cried. 

She had already sprang to do so, but the woman was as 
quick as she. 

With a flash of her long hand, she swept my mother’s 
glass of wine off the table. The next instant her lithe 
fingers were pressing down my mother’s upon the door 
handle. 

Even in this supreme moment she was hiding behind her 
mask. 

“Are you mad?” she exclaimed, regarding my mother 
steadily. “Your daughter requires your aid. Go to her, I 
will send for a doctor; would you seek to detain me?” 

“The hand she pressed upon sank and released. My 
mother swayed aside, and the visitor vanished from the 
room. 

“Mamma, are you mad?” I, too, cried. “Detain her! 
Will you let the assassin go?” 

Why did she not move? 

My sister’s heavy head was in my arms ; but I laid it on 
the wine-drenched floor, and darted after the woman. 

What folly! Could my girl’s hand and infant cunning 
hope to conquer the bold plotter? They were swooping 
down to the gates of Silverlea, the man and his mistress, 
and no wild commands of mine could reach them now. 

Almost frenzied, I returned to those I had left. 

What ! both senseless — both smitten down ! 

My mother was sitting on a chair, with her hands help- 
lessly pendant ; a bewildered expression on her face, which 
was fast changing to unconsciousness. 

“ Mother!” I shrieked, “ do not give way. AYe must 
raise poor Isolina from the floor. She will die here!” 


180 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


I might as well have invoked the helpless Flora at her 
side. Her eyes turned upon me with unconscious, mourn- 
ful gaze; a weird flame began to burn in her cheeks. 

That unnatural look informed me of the last calamity. 

I now remembered the peculiar manner in which the 
woman had pressed down my mother’s hand; also a jewel 
which I had seen on her right hand, which she often ad- 
justed. I remembered the horror of my sister as she tore 
off my wet glove, after one of the stranger’s hand-grasps, 
and gazed at my fingers. 

Were they loth poisoned, and was I all that was left to 
father of his dearly loved family? Two victims — and I 
escaped ? 

Oh, Heaven, have pity on the wretch who escaped! 

I went to my mother, and lifted her heavy hands. 

“ Which hand did she touch?” I said, in trembling tones. 
Her mournful eyes lifted themselves to me with a mighty 
effort. Her head fell back as the lethargy attacked her. 
She, too, was unconscious. 

I fell on my knees beside her and seized her hands again. 
My eyes were dim with horror; but I dashed them clear of 
tears and ferocity. Now I could discern a tiny puncture 
on the back of the middle finger, with a faint-blue ring 
round it. I wildly sucked it. 

Clammy drops began to bedew her brow. The lethargy 
developed itself. My mother slumbered heavily. 

Also the room was in death-like silence. I alone seemed 
living. Heaven has given me life to save the others. I- 
must try to do so. 

I went out and called the servants. 

“ Go away and send Nelson for a doctor!” I cried, when 
the housekeeper appeared. 

She gasped, and stood with her eyes fixed. 

“Away!” I exclaimed; “and come back again in- 
stantly. 

She went, and Sophie rushed down stairs. 

“ What’s the matter, miss? My good gracious — your 
voice is just dreadful; and your face — Lord!” 

“ Wheel in a sofa from the parlor — I will help.” 

“ But do tell me, dear Miss Iva, who is sick?” 

“You shall see, my girl — you shall see.” 

All this time I was making her wheel out the sofa. I 
pulled recklessly at it; and almost lifted it bodily into the 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


181 


room. Mrs. Haller hurried in, and the two women broke 
out in chorus at the sight they saw. 

“ Yes,” I assented, almost smiling in my bitterness — “ it 
is rather dreadful, is it not. Both poisoned, Mrs. Haller — 
both poisoned by the lady you call Mrs. Ringwood. Come, 
Sophie— my mother first. Lay her on this couch; unfasten 
that collar. Now, Mrs. Haller, my sister! Yes, I shall 
hold her head — I am quite strong for anything. So — now 
go and get what you can to prevent the effects of the poison; 
what poison I cannot say.” 

The old woman began in a quavering voice to pour out 
various recipes for counteracting poison, and I listened 
to her list of antidotes such as chalk and oil, milk, iron- 
rust, vinegar, starch, white of egg, etc., with patient help- 
lessness. 

“Go and bring some one of these many nostrums, then,” 
I said. “You may blindly hit on the right one. Has Nel- 
son gone?” 

“ Yes,” whispered she, in an awe-struck voice. 

“Can he easily find the village doctor?” 

“ I told him where to go — a mile up the Cat's Head hill, 
on t’other side of Ranelagh. He went on horseback.” 

“ He will not be back in time,” I said, relinquishing my 
last hope with bitter fortitude; “they will be dead long 
before help can come to them, if my sister is not dead al- 
ready!” 

Mrs. Haller began to weep, and hurried away for some of 
her medicine; Sophie, terrified into perfect silence, w^as 
beating my sister’s cold hands, in the manner approved for 
a swoon. 

Her bodice was unlaced, and her beautiful bosom lay 
still as a bank of snow, frozen by a north wind; she was 
not sleeping like my mother, and I thought she was already 
dead. 

I came away without a word, and something turned my 
body cold like lead; my heart grew so stony that I no longer 
felt the pangs of sorrow. I secretly rose against that 
Creator who seemed to have devoted us to destruction; I no 
longer strove against what seemed His merciless will; let 
these victims die. Fate had marked them. With cold 
fury in my heart, I left the house, and stepped out into the 
garden. 

I fled from Silverlea, and found myself on the road to 


182 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


the village. My wild thoughts began to shape themselves. 

I would have the murderess arrested before she could 
leave Ranelagh. I would have revenge, and it should be 
sweeping. 

Faster and faster I walked; my hands clenched, my eyes 
hot and tearless. The afternoon sun was glimmering through 
the rows of trees, and on every spear of grass hung a string 
of diamonds. All down the saudy road to Ranelagh were 
banks of purple violets and primroses, with a tear in every 
heart, but they breathed no comfort to me. A group of 
happy-eyed children passed me on their way from the village 
school, and every voice sank to silence as I passed. 

“Look at her! look at her!” they cried, huddling to- 
gether. 

“ She’s lost her bonnet and shawl! She’s one of the la- 
dies from Silverlea — let’s go and help find ’em.” 

But I soon outstripped them in the search, and forgot to 
look behind at them. 

The village street was quiet and deserted as usual; but a 
group of strangers were standing at the foot of the hotel steps, 
and they all gazed at me with faces of concern or surprise, 
and said something to each other like what the children had 
said; but I was impervious to external expressions, and 
walked through the midst of them, only seeing before me 
my great purpose of vengeance. 

Mr. Stanton was standing on the balcony talking to a 
gentleman; I caught him by the arm and pulled him aside 
in the middle of a sentence. 

“Where is Mrs. Ringwood?” 

“ My gracious, Miss Rienzi ! what’s up?” 

“ Where is Mrs. Ringwood, sir?” 

“ I — -I’m amazed; do you know there’s nothing on your 
head? Where did you come from, for Heaven’s sake?” 

I shook his arm until he grew red with the violent mo- 
tion. 

“For the third time, I ask you, sir — where is Mrs. Ring- 
wood?” 

“Miss Rienzi, if it’s a matter of importance. I’m sorry 
for you,” he exclaimed, with considerable feeling; “ she’s 
gone half an hour ago.” 

“ Where?” 

“ Indeed I can’t tell you. I wish for your sake I had 
asked. It was quite a sudden thing; she hired two of my 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


183 


rooms for a week, then went to Shirley this forenoon and 
took her baggage off with her, without even an apology, 
which was strange for a lady like Mrs. Ringwood. She 
took the three o’clock up-train to New York, and I suppose 
will be in the city by six.” 

“Did her man go too?” 

“Yes; her man, their horse and wagon. My goodness! 
if I had only known Miss Rienzi it was so important ” 

“ Is there any means of sending a telegram to New York?” 

“Well, now, none nearer than an office at Shirley 
Sands.” 

“Ha! six miles and a half from here. Too late, proba- 
bly. Well, I must try. Give me a man to send to Shirley 
Sands.” 

“ Anything in the world to oblige. Sammy! here Sam!” 

He went away vociferating, and I was left alone to wait. 

Oh, impossible task! I paced about in smothered frenzy. 

A gentleman on the balcony was eying me curiously; 
I went out to him and caught hold of his sleeve. 

“ Sir, are you a doctor?” 

“ No, I am not a doctor. I belong to the Bank.” 

“ Are any of these persons physicians?” 

The persons designated were some dozen young men, 
habited in fishing and shooting blouses, still standing at the 
foot of the steps, and all gazing breathlessly at me. 

“ This lady wishes to know if any of you gentlemen are 
physicians?” 

“ Sorry to say I am not,” answered some; they all shook 
their heads. 

I turned my back on them, and re-entered the house. 

Mr. Stanton was looking about in perturbation of mind 
for me. 

“ Oh, here you are. Sammy’ll be ready in two minutes 
— he’s saddling the dapple mare, and anybody can tell you 
how she can put through it.” 

“A pen and paper, then, my friend.” 

He ushered me into a small room and placed the materials 
before me. My two hands trembled as with ague; I clutched 
the pen, and dashed off in almost indistinguishable words the 
following: 

“Meet the six o’clock train from Ranelagh with an officer, and ar- 
rest Mrs. Ringwood; dressed in black; white hair, blue spectacles; 
turquois ring) either on right hand, or secreted about person. At- 


184 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


tendant: man with long, grizzled hair; dark eyes; slouch hat; name 
Ralph Morecombe. Brown horse, white feet; dark green buggy, 
brown hinges. A murder has been attempted; results unknown.” 

“IVANILLA RlENZI.” 

This I addressed to my father and sealed. I thrust my 
hand into my pocket, but found I had not my purse. 

“ I have no money, Mr. Stanton; lend me some?” 

“ Certainly, Miss Rienzi.” 

Again he hurried off, and soon came back with a couple 
of notes, just as one of the servants rode round to the front 
on a tall, sinewy roadster. 

“ It is four o’clock now; tell him he will win twenty dol- 
lars if he sends off the message before jthree-quarters of an 
hour.” 

Stanton flung himself down stairs, and in one minute 
the messenger was cantering off at his best pace. 

“ Now do tell me what’s up,” said the good-natured land- 
lord, puffing up to me again. “ Something extra must have 
happened, for your coachman rode past here like the mis- 
chief a spell ago.” 

“ He was going for the doctor.” 

“ Lord love you, how unfortunate! I could have told him, 
if he stopped when I hollered to him, that Dr. Whitney 
had gone on his Thursday’s circuit to Briarville, and won’t be 
back to-night; he never is.” 

“ Where is Briarville?” 

“Full twelve miles off, t’other side of Cat’s Head, miss.” 

“They are lost, then! If there was a chance, they have 
lost it!” 

“ My dear MissRienzi, who is ill?” 

“ All I have at home — and they must die like dogs, with- 
out help! Oh — oh!” 

I darted out, determined to fly back to them. 

“ My dear young lady, wait till Mrs. Stanton gets a bon- 
net for you,” cried the landlord, entreatingly. 

I did not heed him, but advanced to the knot of youths 
at the gate; they parted in two groups, and left a passage 
for me; I walked through the midst of them, my mind un- 
conscious of them. 

There was a light carriage before Mr. Fernley’s door; a 
tall, white horse was pawing the hollow in the ground, and 
turning his arching neck every moment to whinny impa- 
tiently at the closed door. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


185 


I might have invoked Mr. Fernley’s help in this hour of 
extremity, but evidently he was engaged with a visitor. 

Fast, fast I sped down the gravelly road, the busy devil 
in my heart tempting me to blaspheme. I was going to 
that desolated home, which no prayers had sufficed to save 
from destruction. 

“ Miss Rienzi! Miss Rienzi!” 

I quickened my speed. I could not face mortal in this 
dark mood. Let me fly the presence of man. 

Footsteps gained upon me; I suddenly dropped my pace, 
and stood, determined to suffer this interruption also. 

A hand was laid on my shoulder. 

“ What in the world is this?” panted Mr. Fernley; “ what 
brought you out in this guise?” 

He had had a long chase, and was almost spent. 

“What guise?” 

“ Good Heaven! something dreadful has happened, by 
the look of your face! And you have no shawl nor hat on, 
do you know that?” 

His words had some impression on me; I began to under- 
stand why I had attracted such universal attention. 

“ I forgot a hat,” I stammered. “ I will go home now.” 

“ No, you won’t. Come up to my house, and get a 
glass of wine, and a bonnet; you are as pale as death.” 

He drew my hand upon his arm. 

“No,” I muttered, peevishly; “I shall go home as I am. 
My mother and sister are dangerously ill — perhaps dead. I 
hoped to get a doctor, but have failed.” 

He stared at me for some time, confounded at my com- 
munication. Suddenly he dropped my hand and began 
running up the hill toward his own house again, as fast as 
he had come down. 

I stood looking after him, almost as confounded as he 
had been, and saw an incomprehensible scene transacted. 

The carriage which I had seen at Fernley’s door was just 
appearing on the brow of the hill when the stout form of 
Mr. Stanton loomed in sight, passing it excitedly, and 
waving a large, dark shawl. The driver of the carriage 
looked round, and drew up, when a hurried consultation 
appeared to take place. While they parleyed, Mr. Fernley 
joined them; and the conference became general, all being 
highly excited, and pointing repeatedly down the hill. 
Presently the white horse began to move down the hill too, 


186 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


and Fernley came running ahead, and waving both his arms 
at me. 

“Stop — stop!” were the words which eventually reached 
me. L< Here’s a gentleman — a gentleman who’ll drive you 
ho — home!” 

The procession bore down upon me; the stout vanguard 
was left far up the hill, and was fain to seat himself upon 
a bank, and witness the proceedings. Mr. Fernley flung 
the shawl round my shoulders, and stuck a very large 
pin in front. 

“ All right,” he gasped; “here’s a doctor.” 

“ Hand her up here!” cried the stranger. 

I was half-lifted, half-dragged, over the high wheel of a 
slender, two-wheeled spider, and drawn across the driver’s 
knees; and instantly the light vehicle was dashing toward 
Silverlea, at a rate which made the air swish across my face 
in a fierce gust. 

Never a word spoke the gentleman; but one arm was 
passed tightly round my waist, to prevent me from being 
tilted over the wheels; and all his attention seemed absorbed 
in guiding his horse clear of the stones, the least one of 
which might have sent the slender thing which we rode in, 
spinning over the bank. 

“Where’s the gate? That white one? Soli! soli, Has- 
san!” 

The stranger gently seated me on his narrow seat, vaulted 
out, and opened the gate. Now I had an opportunity of 
looking at the doctor, whom Fate or Heaven had sent me. 

It was a grand face that; with eyes as keen as an eagle’s, 
and hair like combed jet and silver. Was this a village 
doctor? 

“Are you Doctor Whitney?” I asked, as he led the horse 
through. 

“No. Who’s Doctor Whitney?” 

He came and took my hand in his. Standing beside me, 
he was as tall even then as I, perched on the high seat; his 
gray eyes, with the iris clear and black as a bird’s, read my 
features intently. 

“Now, listen, little girl,” he said, gravely. “I am not 
such a stranger as you think. I have come thousands of 
miles to serve this family — your family; your closest inter- 
ests are interwoven with mine. Now, trust me as you would 


BE A UTIFUL RIENZI. 


187 


a friend; tell me what calamity has befallen you; tell me in 
a word.” 

A thrill of hope ran through my chilled heart; convul- 
sively I pressed my lips to the hand which held mine in 
such kindly keeping; my woeful eyes gathered comfort in 
his face. 

“ Oh, will you .indeed, befriend us?” I cried. 

“ Prove me, little girl; only prove me.” 

“ We have an enemy,” I breathed, with abated breath, “a 
woman who has brought us nothing but ruin. She came 
here to-day under a false name, and poisoned my mother 
and my sister. I alone escaped.” 

“Isolina?” The stranger’s eyes darkened with apprehen- 
sion. 

“ Yes, Isolina. They were both insensible when I left 
the house.” 

“ This woman’s name?” 

“Mrs. Ringwood.” 

“Hah! I thought so! Viper!” 

His face was hard and bitter; he clenched his hand as 
often as I had done, when this viper’s sting was sharpened. 

“ What were you doing down in the village bare-headed?” 
he demanded, leading his horse up the lane. 

“ I hoped at first to arrest her before she should leave 
the village, but she had escaped. I sent a telegram to my 
father, that she might be intercepted at the New York 
station.” 

“ Right! you have your father’s spirit, girl.” 

He stopped at the door; Sophie rushed out, her eyes swol- 
len with weeping, and flung her arms about me. 

“ Oh, Miss Iva, darling, where have you been?” she cried; 
“I thought you had run and drowned yourself!” 

“How are they, Sophie?” 

“Misses is sleeping so heavily! and Mrs. Haller says it’s 

no use ” 

“And my sister?” 

“ Oh, Miss Iva, don’t ask! I believe she’s dead!” 

“ That’s enough of news,” interrupted the stranger’s de- 
cisive voice; “run, now, girl, and carry in the medicine- 
chest which you will find under the seat. Young lady, show 
me in.” 

He almost dragged me into the hall, flung his hat and 


188 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


gloves on the stand, and went into the room which I pointed 
out. 

“There’s no one here,” he said, reappearing. 

Mrs. Haller opened my mother’s bedroom door and 
looked along the hall; he instantly approached her. 

“ Where are the patients, ma’am?” 

“Here, sir — both in one bed,” moaned the old woman, 
raising her hands. 

He entered, and, like a spiritless child, I kept by his 
side. 

My mother’s deep breathing filled the room; her face 
had become very pale, and somewhat drawn. My sister 
lay beside her as stiff and moveless as a figure shaped in 
clay. 

The doctor went first to her, and bent over her for a full 
moment. An expression of profound dismay was on his 
countenance when he looked up again. 

“ Is this Isolina?” he exclaimed. I assented. 

“ I should not have known her,” he muttered, almost 
sternly. “Oh, poor girl!” 

He examined her pulse, laid his ear on her heart, and 
felt her temples; then he bent down until his face almost 
touched her breathless lips. After this he went round to 
my mother. 

In an instant he had seized her hand and was poring over 
it; it was now swollen and almost livid. 

“ How long has she been asleep?” he asked. 

“Nearly an hour and a half.” 

“Humph! What’s this? poultice? stuff! That’s right, 
my girl; put the medicine-chest down here, and be legs for 
me. Now, Miss Ivanilla,” he took my hand and led me to 
the door. “You are to get out of this and go to your own 
room, wherever that is, and do exactly what you’re told, and 
nothing else. Don’t look so despairing, child; I’ll tell you 
a bit of news to take away with you. I can’t find any 
traces of poison about your sister, and it’s not too late to 
save your mother, though the danger is great. There! I 
knew that would fill these dry little eyes with tears; go 
away now and cry, and then lie down and rest yourself a 
long while.” 

He pushed me away with gentle firmness, but still I clung 
to him in my newborn faith and trust. 

“ Oh, sir,” I sobbed, “tell me who it is that has come 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


189 


thousand of miles to befriend our poor doomed family? tell 
me, that I may bless his name!” 

“ Reserve your blessings, child,” he responded, gravely, 
“until I have earned them by Heaven’s help. Meantime, 
believe in the fidelity of one who has long known your sister 
— Hr. Pemberton.” 


CHAPTER XXV. 

MY FRIEND. 

“ Rise, happy morn! rise holy morn! 

Draw forth the cheerful day from night; 

O Father! touch the east and light 
The light that shone when Hope was born!” 

Tennyson. 

I fell on my knees in my own room and prayed as I had 
never prayed before to that God who had sent me my heart’s 
desire — a friend in need. 

My dark cloud of unbelief fell from my soul in that ar- 
dent prayer of thanks and contrition. My spirit, chastened 
by long trial, turned to the sun at last, and all my life of 
vain struggling passed in review before me. I laid myself 
and my sorrows at the feet of the Christ who was caring for 
my loved ones; I resolved to devote my life to Him. Sweet 
hope and trust filled my being then; I wept with pure love; 
my soul, which had been a rebellious and shuddering im- 
mortal, exulted in its Saviour and feared no more. 

As thus I crouched by my bed, trembling with excess of 
ecstasy, Sophie came in, and to her I turned my rapture- 
shining face, eager to impart my feast of consolation. 

“Sophie,” I whispered; “weep no more. They are in 
God’s hands; that takes away the bitterness. I am ready to 
give them up if Providence wills it, or I will take one back, 
and bless the Giver. Sophie, be resigned, and give cheer- 
fully.” 

“ Dear miss,” said the girl, wiping her tears away, “ I’ve 
prayed and prayed, but I don’t see as my prayers can help 
’em much now. Howsomever, that strange doctor has sent 
me up, Miss Iva, to see if you are in your bed; he says you’ve 
got to take a rest after what you suffered.” 

“We shall obey whatever he says,” I answered, rising with 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


190 

meekness; “ and, Sophie, I leave you to attend to Dr. Pem- 
berton’s directions, and to charge Nelson to do so too when- 
ever he comes home. Dr. Pemberton has our interests at 
his very heart.” 

While the girl unlaced my slight boots, 'which were soaked 
through with the rain-water, into which I had heedlessly 
walked, and through which my long garments had trailed, 
she told me what had happened when we left the house in 
the morning with Mr. Lindhurst. 

“You hadn’t been gone an hour,” said Sophie; “and I 
think the rain was driving hardest when a very gentle knock 
comes to the front door. Miss Isoliua was sitting in the 
window there looking out at the storm on the sea, and I was 
sitting alongside of her sewing, and keeping as good care 
of her as I could, as your poor, dear ma said, when of a sud- 
den Mrs. Haller comes up the stairs and says that Mrs. 
Ringwood was in the drawing-room, called to see your ma, 
and since she wasn’t at home, she’d like to see the young 
lady. At that I spoke up, and said I knew that your ma, 
or you either, wouldn’t like for Miss Isolina to trouble her- 
self with strangers in their absence, and Mrs. Ringwood 
would just have to wait, for I had given my bounden word 
that out of this room she should not go; and Miss Isolina 
says in her sweet way, which was always thinking for other 
people: ‘Tell Mrs. Ringwood just how it is with me; but 
assure her that I would like very much to see her; and if she 
will wait a few minutes mamma will certainly be home; she 
only went to the station.” 

“ Mrs. Haller said that ought to do, and went down to the 
lady, but by and by she comes up again with a card in her 
hand which had some words written on to it; and as soon as 
my dear young lady read them she just got as white as that 
curtain and got up and said, ' I must go.’ 

“ Then I cried out again that my word was passed to take 
care of her, and out of this she should not go; but she didn’t 
even answer, and the shimmering little hands of hers trem- 
bled so bad she could scarcely hold on to the door-handle. 
Howsomever, she managed to go down stairs with the card 
in her hand, and wouldn’t take none of us for help. 

“ I was so mad at Mrs. Haller for carrying up the second 
message, that I up and told her the doctor had specially for- 
bid Miss Isolina to have any worry, for her life, and that 
your ma would be crazy when she come to know; and Mrs. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


191 


Haller she looked as vexed as could be, and said Mrs. Ring- 
wood was a fidgety old woman, always follering up other 
people about her charities, which was a hobby she rode to 
death last winter; and I asked her what was on the card, 
which wasn’t very polite of me, I am sure; but I couldn’t 
see how anything about sick beggars could have moved 
your sweet sister so; and Mrs. Haller said she couldn’t make 
out a word of what was written down ; that it looked like 
gibberish in a foreign language, but she expected Mrs. Ring- 
wood wanted money to clothe somebody’s brats. And there 
they sat and sat, with the door shut tight on them, till I 
couldn’t sit nor stand with the fidgets. And then you come 
home.” 

When the girl had concluded this relation, she drew down 
the window blinds and left me to take the prescribed rest, 
which the doctor seemed to consider necessary. 

She left me, with a brain intensely busy and my heart 
stirred to its depths; and predisposed for anything but rest, 
though my limbs ached and I was faint from exhaustion. 

I had been perhaps half an hour thus, burying my head 
in the pillow and forcing my eyes to remain shut, when the 
door was slowly opened and a stately form, which was not 
Sophie’s, appeared on the threshold. 

“Humph!” said Dr. Pemberton, coming to my bedside; 
“you area good, obedient little girl — trying hard to lie still, 
which under present circumstances is an act of heroism; but, 
of course, failing. Just what’s to be expected — pulse rapid 
— head hot; would fly through the village like another 
Godiva. We’ll set you up in a few hours, though; glad 
to see that you’ve tucked yourself honestly into bed, and 
no shams ” (glancing at the pile of garments on a chair). 
“What’s this?” lifting it up; “ a dripping wet boot! Oh, 
you wicked child! Here— be good enough to swallow this, 
and go to sleep.” 

He poured some drops out of a small bottle into a glass 
of water, which I drank obediently, then caught his sleeve 
just as he was going away. 

“ TeH me one thing, doctor— have you come too late?” 

“No, thank Heaven!” was the fervent response; “not 
too late for either, I hope. I think that Providence is 
going to give me the lives of both. There, go to sleep, my 
child.” 


192 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


And with these blessed tidings lie went away, gently 
locking the door behind him. 

When I awoke, the moonlight was streaming in through 
the interstices of the blind; I was a long time lying there 
before I could recall all that had happened; my memory 
had been too deeply swallowed up in the dreamless slumber. 
But I heard the clock in the hall strike one, and at the 
same time a foot approached my door and it was unlocked 
by Sophie, who glided to my bedside. 

“ You're not asleep, Miss Iva?” 

“No, I have just awoke. What news, Sophie?" 

“ Oh, miss, we've much to be thankful for! That won- 
derful man has saved them, dear heart. Miss Isolina, poor 
lamb, is sleeping in the room next here; your ma is sleep- 
ing or resting, I don't know which, in her own bed. Miss, 
it's all right. 

My soul seemed too small to hold the joy which these 
words brought me; I could not speak, but my heart could 
speak to Heaven. 

“The doctor has sent me up to desire your presence,” 
continued Sophie, who was softly weeping with thankful- 
ness. “ Dr. Whitney is there, and they want you.” 

So I rose and dressed myself in the brilliant moonlight 
with light fingers, which often clasped each other as my 
thoughts shaped heavenward. 

The two gentlemen were in the drawing-room, talking 
in low, animated tones, and they both rose and approached 
me with outstretched hands, and both gazed with deep at- 
tention at me. 

“ Let me feel your pulse,” said Dr. Pemberton, seizing 
my wrist between his thumb and finger. 

“ Put out your tongue,” said the village doctor, who was 
an undersized, thin, anxious-looking individual, buttoned 
into a white linen coat with black buttons. 

“Pish! nothing the matter with her but hunger!” said 
my friend, good humoredly ; “ needn't examine her tongue 
for that. All right again, hey ?” 

“ I think so, sir.” 

“ Feel clear-headed? your eyes are as bright as diamonds; 
how is the head?” 

“ Quite clear, I think sir,” I replied. 

“ And hungry?” 

“Yes, indeed!” I responded earnestly ; indeed I -was 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


193 


famishing; nothing had crossed my lips, since a slight 
breakfast the day before, with my mother. 

The doctor went to a tray which seemed to have been in 
waiting, and selected some viands which he brought and 
ordered me to eat. 

“ You have got an hour’s business,” said Dr. Pemberton, 
‘‘and you must prepare yourself for it.” 

■ He watched me with great relish, while I ate, and rubbed 
his hands with satisfaction. 

“ Upon my word, young lady,” he exclaimed, “I wish 
all patients were as obedient as you. Eat away, you poor 
little dear— they’ve famished you.” 

When I had announced myself somewhat appeased, they 
gave me a note which was waiting on the table. 

• ‘ Feed the body first — then the mind;” observed my friend 
in his usual half-serious way; “so there’s no chance of this 
robbing you of that fine appetite. A boy brought it from 
Shirley .Sands, or some such place, at ten o’clock of the 
night.” 

It was a return telegram from my father, and it ran thus: 

“ Met the six o’clock train, but saw no Mrs. Ringwood. Traces 
lost. Will join you first train. G. Rienzi.” 

My face fell when I read these tidings; she had again 
escaped ; she had another chance to commit her crime. 

Without a word I handed it to Dr. Pemberton. 

“Missed her, has he?” cried the doctor, reading. 
“Humph! traces lost! No, thank Heaven, not while I’m 
here, I hope. Cheer up, my little friend; I think I know 
where she is.” 

He folded up the dispatch and returned it to me. 

“Miss Rienzi,” said Dr. Whitney, nervously, “I have 
waited — that is, my professional brother here lias desired 
me to wait, so that we may hear from you the particulars of 
the incidents which happened yesterday. Here are a 
number of fragments of glass which your housekeeper 
collected from this carpet (which I see is unfortunately 
stained with wine), and here is a glass of wine which I am 
told was on the mantel-piece untouched, and which on 
analysis, my professional brother and I find to be quite 
pure. The fragments of glass are coated with strychnine 
— the glass of wine is pure; now my dear lady, as perhaps 
your explanations may be of very great importance I shall 


194 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


have much pleasure iu writing them down, and keeping the 
notes, if so required.” 

The ceremonious little man here displayed before my 
shrinking eyes, the proofs of Mrs. Ringwood’s foul attempt. 

“ It will soon be over;” said my friend, encouragingly. 
“ Just detail all that took place during the woman’s pres- 
ence, so that Doctor Whitney’s report, being by an uninter- 
ested party, may have some weight.” 

I told the circumstances as minutely as possible; the 
gentlemen both agreed that she had dropped the poison 
into the two wine glasses at the moment when her vail fell 
forward, and that the third glass which she had indicated, 
was unpoisoned, and intended for Isolina. Why this divi- 
sion was made was an impenetrable mystery; it defied us all 
apparently. My friend Doctor Pemberton hazarded no 
solution. 

Doctor Whitney related all that he knew of the lady dur- 
ing her stay at Silverlea; she had been from some time in 
December until April an inmate of the very house which an 
inscrutable Providence had led us to take refuge in; and for 
some time a young gentleman had been with her, who was 
rarely seen, and whose retirement it was whispered was in 
consequence of some State crime, which had driven him out 
of society. Who he was no one could rightly ascertain. 
The housekeeper suspected him to be Mrs. Ringwood’s son, 
and a Southern spy, but she was never encouraged by the 
widow lady to ask any questions. 

At this point of the village doctor’s story, I cried hastily: 
“Did you ever see the young man?” 

“ I did, but only once, and under rather peculiar cir- 
cumstances,” he replied. “About six weeks after the ar- 
rival of Mrs. Ringwood I was passing the gate, when the 
man Morecombe intercepted me and asked me if I could 
see a patient without alarming the village. I asked him 
what he meant, and he said: 

“ ‘ There is some one up there badly in want of a doctor 
who knows how to hold his tongue and use his brains.’ 

“ ‘ If there is any one ill at Silverlea, I shall be happy to 
be of use,’ I answered, turning my horse’s head; f and as I 
am not in the habit of violating the confidence of my 
patients, you have nothing to fear.’ 

“ I was not prepared, I confess, for the kind of patient to 
which I was introduced. The room was darkened, and 


' beautiful rienzi. 


195 


Mrs. Ringwood, whom I had seen sometimes in church was 
sitting by the bed. My patient turned out to be a young 
man in the last stages of weakness, who had just reached 
the crisis of a brain fever, and, though conscious, was so 
prostrated that recovery seemed impossible. Some intense 
emotion had evidently seized upon him with the return of 
memory, and produced a hemorrhage from the lungs, and 
he was fast bleeding to death. The circumstances were so 
imminent that no questions could be asked, and it was only 
bv the most extreme measures that I reduced the bleeding 
and alleviated his sufferings. No sooner was the danger 
passed than Mrs. Ringwood dismissed me, paying me hand- 
somely, and promising to summon me if required. I was 
not summoned, however, and after the caution I had re- 
ceived I was careful to keep my own counsel about the 


widow lady’s visitor. 

‘'Describe the young man,” I exclaimed. 

“ My dear young lady, it would be impossible for you to 
have recognized your own father after such an illness. I 
daresay you never saw a young fellow with a shaved head, 
and skin as white and bleached as a piece of dressed kid. 
The only objects in the face which looked like life were a 
pair of restless, large brown eyes, which flashed now and 
then with a very curious reddish glare, the like of which I 
never observed before. Can’t account for it, sir— can you . 
Could it be the effect of repeated light on the retina, 01 
some unusual property contained in the figment or coloring 
matter? Very extraordinary eyes they were, from whatever 

Ca ?< S ft‘tav!” I cried, with upraised hand and breath coming 
thick and short; “ Doctor Pemberton he has described 
Cecil Beaumont’s eyes! This woman— beyond the possibil- 
itv of doubt— this Mrs. Ringwood is Mrs. Beaumont. 

« I may add one thing more,” said Doctor Whitney, 
commencing to button his coat; "the young man had a 
deep scar on his left temple, which was scarcely healed, and 
one arm was in splinters, and bandaged up. The ldow 
ladv gave me no explanation of these wounds; I was allowed 
to believe that he'had been a soldier— probably a Southern 

80 “ And now I must be off and catch the fag-end of my 
night’s sleep, for indeed I am a little shaken by the rate at 
which that zealous young man Nelson made my old maie 


196 


BEAUTIFUL ItlENZI. 


canter all the way from Briarsville. I hope anything I 
have told you may be of use, and that this strange business 
may be satisfactorily settled. Pray command me, Miss 
Rienzi; ask your father to make use of me for any informa- 
tion he may deem me in possession of. Sir, I leave the 
ladies under able and skillful hands; I have no fears for 
their ultimate recovery, when the eminent Pemberton is 
their physician. I shall send the medicine from my labora- 
tory in the morning, doctor. My dear young lady, good- 
night. I cannot help complimenting you highly on the 
address and presence of mind which you have displayed 
under the late trying circumstances. Your conduct does 
your heart and intellect credit. Good-night.” 

The ceremonious old gentleman here bowed himself out 
of the room, and softly shut himself out of the house. 

‘‘ Good fellow that,” said Doctor Pemberton, senten- 
tiously; “ is always ready to help another across the stream. 

Now, I vanilla ” I quite started at the sudden change 

of manner, and at my own name on his lips; his calm, gray 
eyes were fixed with the intensity of deep thought on my 
face. “ Now, Ivanilla, we have a conference before us, in 
which we must use our memories and reasoning powers to 
the utmost. You must tell me all that has happened in 
connection with your sister, since you came from Italy, and I 
shall compare it with the facts in my possession. But first 
you would like to know exactly how my two patients are, 
would you not?” 

“ I have been longing to ask,” I said. 

“ Knew it very well, and admired the first patient little 
girl that I ever saw, with black eyes. Be comforted, my 
child; your mother is safe and in a healthful sleep. From 
the symptoms of her seizure, Whitney and I incline to the 
opinion that the poison administered by the pressure of the 
ring must have been a deadly extract of the Egyptian 
papaver, which must have been prepared with the most 
infernal skill for the purpose. I should like to get that 
turquois ring; I rather think it will prove to be a curiosity. 
As to Isolina, the insensibility which alarmed you so much 
was only a protracted fainting fit, approaching to catalepsy 
in its strength, occasioned by the dreadful horror which has 
been in her mind, allied to the extreme weakness of her 
body. Poor girl! I wish I knew all that is in that tortured 
heart. I’ll warrant there’s been black sinning against her! 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


197 


But, thanks be to a merciful Providence which sent me 
here at the right time, she’s better, and will be quite revived 
in a few days. 

“ My little friend, I have relieved your anxiety to the 
best of my ability; now sit you there, and relieve mine. 
Tell me your side of Isolina’s history.” 

I began from the day on which I first beheld my sister in 
her matchless loveliness holding back the door of the saloon 
and looking at me; I recounted every link of the dreary 
record, from gloom to gloom, of the slowly gathering sor- 
row; and with my heart kindled by his evident sympathy 
and deep emotion into burning vehemence, I recounted with 
passion and tears the wrongs of me and mine unto the 
bitter end. 

Then my friend clasped me to his breast in a sudden and 
uncontrollable burst of tenderness. 

“Noble, heroic girl!” he cried; “you have been faithful 
iudeed to the sister you profess to love. But you have suf- 
too much for that loyal little heart to remain unbroken. 
In the name of those whose lives are bound up in Isolina 
Rienzi, I thank you.” 

“ Now tell me who you are, and what you have to do 
with my sister’s life? — a benefactor you must be!” I 
breathed, resting trustingly upon the arm which was still 
thrown around me. 

But he smoothed my hair with thoughtful hand and shook 
his head slowly. 

“Be content with what you know of me,” he said; “you 
know enough for the heart to bear. When I can help you, 
you shall know what knit Alphonse Pemberton’s heart to 
you.” 

When the dawn was stealing in, and the lamp burned 
with a wild and haggard gleam, our conference was ended. 


198 


; BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

MY DARLING — ADIEU. 

“The bloom hath fled thy cheek, sister, 

As Spring’s earth blossoms die. 

And sadness hath o’ershadowed now 
Thy once bright eye; 

But, look, on me the prints of grief 
Still deeper lie. 

Farewell!”— Scottish Song. 

Later in the morning I was standing on the piazza, 
drinking in the sweet, cool breeze, and leaning against a 
pillar, all draped in multiflora vines, whose odorous roses 
swung toward me on the zephyr, filling my soul with de- 
light. 

I had been watching my mother slumber since dawn, 
while the doctor and our faithful Sophie refreshed them- 
selves with a rest; and now Mrs. Haller was in her cham- 
ber, while I stole out for a few minutes into the golden sun- 
shine. 

I became aware of a presence near me; I turned my head 
from side to side, and beheld a figure standing midway on 
the piazza, between the door and the steps. 

“Isolina! What imprudence!” 

Yes, it was she. Her hands were clasped together; her 
eyes were fixed upon me wildly; she seemed about to fly, but 
her feet remained rooted in an attitude to depart. A broad 
sun-hat was on her head and tied under her chin; a black 
silk scarf was round her shoulders, a satchel hanging on her 
arm. 

“ Oh, my dear sister, where are you going? Go back to 
your bed; you should not be up. Come!” 

I advanced and seized her arm; the sentences came 
in faltering gasps; a sickening premonition was in my 
heart. 

“ I am going away,” she said, turning her pale face from 
me. “I would not willingly have pained you by this scene, 
Ivanilla; I thought you were not here.” 

“ Going away? Where — where, my own darling?” 

“It is my duty to go — and my lips are sealed. It would 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


199 


have been better if you had not met me; it is so cruel to us 
both — this.” 

“No, no, no!” I cried, throwing my arms around her. 
“You shall not go! Not another word! Come in this 
very instant, my dear, and never harbor so mad a thought 
again. Where will you go, sister? Could you leave 
father and mother and sister, to break their hearts for 
you ?” 

“ Forbear!” she said, in a low, agonized voice: “my cross 
will kill me if you add another stab to my heart. Iva, fare- 
well!” 

She strove to free herself, but I held her with both hands, 
and would not be shaken off. 

“ Never!” I muttered; “I will make the place resound 
with my shrieks first; I will not let you go!” 

“ I implore you to have mercy on me, Ivanillal” she 
breathed, tremblingly; “I am not strong, and I prayed Hea- 
ven to give me enough strength to do this sacred duty. As 
you love me, let me go.” 

“ Will you see Dr. Pemberton first?” I sobbed. 

“No, no! He does not know!” she answered, piteously. 

“Can you leave our dear mamma, unwelcomed back 
to life?” was my next appeal; “that wretch poisoned her, 
Isolina!” 

“ I know — I know. My life shall be between this family 
and danger in future. Fear that wretch no longer; she 
and hers have wronged you cruelly; all is past now.” 

Her face was frightfully pale, her breath struggled on her 
lip, her hands grasped wildly at the air. 

“ If ever you loved poor hapless Isolina,” she gasped once 
more, “let her go and do her duty.” 

Ah, hour of sorrow! my arms dropped from about her; I 
ceased to importune. Her duty! who was I, to interpose? 

“Let us meet in heaven,” she whispered; “tell our 
saintly mother that I loved her truly, Ivanilla — little sis- 
ter I cannot thank you for what you have done for me. 
Sweet darling — a long good-by. Oh, my own little Iva, 
good-by.” 

She pressed me in her arms, her tears broke forth; her 
bosom swelled tumultuously; bitter was the parting there. 

“And our father — what for him?” I said, remembering 
how dear these words would be to each heart. 

“A prayer — and my forgiveness !” was the answer. She 


200 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


pushed me from her, wildly, and turned away, down the 
shallow steps. 

In a dream I watched her let herself out at the gate; in a 
miserable dream I saw the distance widen between us; her 
white hat sometimes shone between the trees — she vanished 
from my view. The lovely scene was quiet and serene and 
lifeless! 

I could not move hand or foot while this war of conflicting 
feelings was going on, then suddenly, like the death-knell 
of the condemned, came a long, chill whistle from the rail- 
way station. She would go away in the cars, and be lost to 
us forever. If I would, I could not recall her now. 

I rushed like a maniac among the whispering aspens, and 
flung myself upon the dewy ground. 

But this paroxysm of despair passed away at last, and 
softer thoughts succeeded. Could I not trust the Hand 
which supported me better than that? Would He allow our 
dearest and our best to come to harm? 

Hours had passed over my head of which I was uncon- 
scious, and when I rose from my hiding-place I was aston- 
ished at the height of the sun; it could not have been less 
than nine o’clock. 

My mind was in a strange whirl of ecstasy and unnatural 
elevation; I had soared beyond the touch of earthly sor- 
rows; I could almost exult at the magnitude of any sacri- 
fices. 

In this mood I returned to the house, and found that my 
absence had caused great anxiety. 

“ Oh, Miss Iva dear!” said Sophie, who as usual was weep- 
ing bitterly, “you hadn’t ought to go away this way! And 
your clothes are wet with dew, and your hands so hot! Missy 
darling, I don’t know how you’ll bear it — Dr. Pemberton 
says there’s news for you. Go in there.” 

I went into the parlor, and there, to my surprise, I found 
my mother. She was sitting in an easy-chair, her head lean- 
ing against the cushion, her face wan and sorrowful, her 
eyes red with weeping. She looked so frail and pitiful, 
with her muslin wrapper flowing round her small, elegant 
figure, and one hand smoothed in bandages, that I could 
have wept over the grief she suffered, when I was above feel- 
ing my own. 

Dr. Pemberton was swallowing a hasty and solitary break- 
fast, with a hat on a chair by his side. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


201 


“ Yes, it’s just what I thought, madam,” exclaimed he, 
when I appeared; “ she’s been at some frenzy Avork. See 
that face! Have you been flying after your sister, Ivanilla? 
Come here!” 

But I did not go to the good doctor; I flew to my mother 
and laid my strange, light head upon her bosom. 

“Mother, why should you mourn?” I exclaimed. “God 
is taking care of her. Give Him whatever He asks for — 
He is welcome — welcome — welcome! I would give you, 
mother sweet, and father, and Ernest, if He said it, and 
live alone, and be happy.” 

But my rapture only inspired her with terror; she turned 
to the doctor her beautiful, appealing eyes, and burst into 
tears. 

“ Unnatural excitation of the nervous system,” said the 
doctor, who by this time had my hand in his; “pulse fly- 
ing. My little girl, why must you always be at a crisis of 
feeling? You’re too sensitive, and too ethereal; the wild 
Southern blood which is rushing through these veins will 
wear you out if you don’t learn our Northern philosophy. 
You must learn that this life is made up of disappoint- 
ments, and expect them. Lay another fold of philosophy 
on your heart, child — it’s not callous enough.” 

He dropped my hand and turned suddenly away; his 
last words had sounded husky and forced; his philoso- 
phy seemed to fail him him just where it should hold out 
best. 

“Do not be alarmed for me,” I breathed, again, throw- 
ing my arms about my mother; “I am resigned; our be- 
loved Isolina has gone because it washer duty to go, and 
Heaven will comfort her, for she left her heart with us.” 

“ Duty!” howled the doctor, in a rage, “the sorceress has 
bewitched her, and you. I think. Duty!” 

But nothing could disturb my enraptured mood. I re- 
counted to my mother every word which had passed be- 
tween my sister and me, the doctor listening most atten- 
tively. 

“There!’ he said, throwing me a note, “ that’s what she 
left us.” 

“ You whom I have known and loved as mother, blot me out of 
your memory now. I go to guard you from the vengeance of one 
whom misery has maddened. I cannot tell you what I have sworn to 
keep secret— darling mother; respect my vow. Do not pursue me; 


202 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


give me up to what I swear to be my duty, and though this parting 
may be to all time, meet me in eternity! Cherish my I vanilla; oh, 
love, how can I break your loyal little heart! Heaven’s blessing on 
those who made my whole life happy; their prayers for the heavy 
days that come upon me. Farewell mother. Isolina.” 

These incoherent, wild words bedewed my eyes with 
tears; I laid my head upon my mother’s lap, and wept, 
but not bitterly; it was for the grief of others; not for my 
own. 

“Yes, cry — cry, it’ll do you good,” said the doctor, 
“ it’ll cool your brain, poor girl. I don’t like these ecsta- 
sies, when one’s friends are snatched away — not natural — 
there must be a terrible rebound some time. Madam, don’t 
check her; she requires it.” 

But I dried my tears and looked up. The doctor had fin- 
ished his breakfast, and was preparing to depart. 

“ Where are you going. Dr. Pemberton?” I asked, wist- 
fully. 

“To get Gemma Lancinetto arrested!” was the startling 
reply. 

“ You will not — please do not attempt to pursue my sis- 
ter; she is doing a sacred duty, and we have no right to 
tamper with her conscience.” 

“ Good Heaven, child!” he cried, “can you be so credu- 
lous? She has gone to sacrifice her l : fe, I’ll lay my hand 
on it, to save yours. Conscience! You don’t know the 
woman you have to deal with — you never saw the Lanci- 
netto.” 

“ An interruption here occurred to the good doctor’s in- 
dignation; a gentleman on horseback appeared coming up 
the lane. 

In an instant Dr. Pemberton was on the piazza waving 
his hat with every demonstration of joy, which increased as 
the rider approached, until he dashed down his hat and ran 
out with his head uncovered, and received the horseman in 
his arms, as he dismounted. 

“Gniseppe! met at last!” 

“ What, who is this?” said my father, whose pale and 
anxious face was seamed with haggard care. 

“Not know Alphonse? Little Alphonse, your old com- 
rade?” cried the doctor, impetuously, and yet we paddled in 
the same brook, and loved the same sonnets in Virgil for the 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


203 


first twenty years of our lives? And so you have forgotten 
your Damon?” 

“ What? Alphonse Pemberton — my college friend?” 

A look, of joy lighted up my father’s face; he grasped the 
doctor’s hand, and wrung it with a joyous laugh, and 
leaned on his shoulder fondly. “ Surely I’m dreaming, 
are you my little Alphonse — the visionary and the genius — 
you a son of Anak?” 

“ And yet I knew my Guiseppe,” responded the other, 
“ though his hair is as white as flax and his face thin and 
old. Come, I’m not here for nothing, my friend; I have 
something to tell you, which I have known for a year, 
about your daughter; and if I had dreamed then that she 
was a child of my Guiseppe, perhaps her fortune this day 
might have been brighter.” 

And the mother and I, who were the beings of a later 
life, and had no part in the love of that far off time, held 
each other’s hands and looked on with wondering eyes. 

But very soon my father remembered his dear ones, and 
embraced us with solemn affection. 

“I met Nelson going down to the village, and he has told 
me all,” he said, “ and again I have to thank my friend,” 
and he held the doctor’s hand warmly, “ for saving my wife 
from a cruel death. Dear Maud! from what have you 
been delivered, Maud? Doctor Pemberton was the closest 
friend of my boyhood — you have often heard me mention 
Alphonse? This is he, give him a welcome, wife.” 

“Not only a welcome, but my deepest gratitude for what 
he has already done for us!” she answered, offering her 
hand with a warm smile. 

When we had all become somewhat calmer, the doctor 
told my father all that had happened, and they retired to 
another room to arrange their plans together. 

What his mission was, precisely, I did not then know. 

The interview between the two old friends lasted for 
more than an hour, then they issued forth in a fever to de- 
part. 

“Speingle has managed to get the most of Mrs. Beau- 
mont’s history,” said my father, hurriedly, and kissed us; 
“and my good friend, Alphonse, can supply what he 
has failed to obtain. It is pretty clear the whole life of 
Gemma Lancinetto, all but one point. The precise nature 
of her power over Isolina. If we manage to arrest her, as, 


204 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


Heaven be praised, I have every assurance that we will — 
that secret link will be forced from her, I hope.” 

“ Hope for the best,” chimed in the doctor, who was in 
fully recovered spirits. “ I don't intend to come back to 
you — no, not I — without the runaway Isolina! Fll cage 
her, never you fear! And Iva— if anybody comes here in 
my absence asking for me, give a spare corner to the old 
doctor’s guest until he returns; will you?” 

And they each sprang, to their places, and dashed off 
with waving adieus to the anxious ones they left behind. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

THE MAH I MET OH THE SAHDS. 

“A happy lover who has come 

To look on her that loves him well, 

Who lights and rings the gateway bell, 

And learns her gone and far from home.” — Tennyson. 

That was a long, sacred day, which my mother and I 
spent together when we were left alone. We communed 
with very full hearts after the terrible dangers from which 
we had escaped; and I poured some of the wonderful com- 
fort with which I was supported into her willing ears, until 
even she smiled in renewed hope, and began to lift her 
head, which had so sorely drooped in sorrow. 

In the quiet evening I loitered through the dewy walks 
of lovely Silverlea down to the bit of sand which girt it in. 

At first I thought only of my darling, who so often had 
walked these summer paths with me; my arm felt empty 
without the touch of her hand; my ear was desolate without 
the rustle of her dress over the withered scrolls which fell 
from beech and aspen; and I wept when I stood on the bed 
of white sand where she used to love to linger. And as I 
gazed over the chastened waters which glided softly in and 
seemed to walk warily after the storm of yesterday, I felt it 
hard for awhile to say, “ Thy will be done!” 

Oh, it was hard; the old wounds bled afresh; my heart 
pleaded sore; but I did not move until I could say, “ I 
give her up to Thee,” and once more calmness came to 
me. 

Slowly I paced along, farther round the little cape 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


205 


which held my home, drinking in the peace of earth and 
ocean. 

Then the sound of a step on the shell-strewn beach made 
me start and prepare to retreat. 

Some one came round a sudden angle of rocks and faced 
me, and all at once I stood still and gazed with deep atten- 
tion. The moon came out with radiance from the golden 
haze, and shone on a face bronzed with oriental climes and 
grave with life’s shadows, which seemed to have been manly, 
though the years were indeed but few; but withal a face 
God -gifted with lion-like bravery and physical perfection, 
and likeness gifted with the beauty of the soul. 

The pedestrian bowed low, and removed his hat, upon 
thus suddenly encountering a lady, and gravely stood aside 
to let me pass, supposing by my abrupt halt that he blocked 
the wav; but instead of passing on, I still eyed him eagerly, 
with doubt and joy thrilling me into silence. * 

With a second reverence lower than the first, the stranger 
took a few steps onward. 

* ‘ Can you pass me by?” I cried, impulsively; “you are 
Victor Joselyn.” 

He turned again, and his bright, falcon-like glance swept 
my face in eager scrutiny. . „ , 

“ I shall be happy to greet a friend, if this is one, he 

said, very softly. . 

Both my hands reached out to him, and locked themselves 
upon his arm in joyful welcome. , . w _ . . , 

“And you don’t know who the friend is? 1 exclaimed, 
ardently; “does your heart tell you nothing— does it feel no 

Wa « I jt feels wondering gratitude at this sweet welcome from 
a very lovely lady.” 

“ There is only due can welcome you more warmly. 1 am 
I vanilla Kicnzi.” 

“What! the little sister? her sister? 

“ And your friend, Victor Joselyn, and this is ^my hand 
to prove it. Ten thousand welcomes to Silverlea!” 

lie took the hand and the whole body in his arms, and I 
wept with joy upon his breast, whom for the first time I met 

this summer night. . 1 , , 

I <nve no solution of this subtle chord which drew us heart 
to heart and overthrew all the obstacles which etiquette and 
lack of sympathy set up. This man was the keeper of my 


206 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


sister’s heart; he was hers; I loved her so deeply that I fell 
at once into my place, as the sister of her he loved, and my 
affection swept into this channel, and ever afterward re- 
mained there. 

So much for the man who stood by the chiming sea, hold- 
ing me clasped to his breast. 

“Now,” I murmured; “come home to Silverlea.” 

“Not yet,” said the stranger, tenderly; “we must 
understand each other first; will you confer with me a 
while?” 

“ Yes,” I answered, with a serene smile; “I know so little 
of Victor Joselyn that it is meet that he should explain him- 
self a little, after so extraordinary a greeting,” and I looked 
with fond and glistening eyes into his face. 

W e slowly paced over the rippled sand, and with one ac- 
cord turned aside to a quiet nook, where some quartz rocks 
were sttewn upon a flat sea rock. 

Here he flung his ample cloak, and spread »it daintily 
for a carpet, upon which he seated me; then he flung 
himself down beside, and raised to me a face whereon 
was depicted every noble though chastened attribute of 
beauty. 

“ Who shall begin?” I asked, with playful fondness; “we 
are two strangers who know one mutual friend — shall we 
talk of that friend? No!” I added, with a sudden sigh; 
“not yet, the subject is a sad one.” 

“ Not yet,” echoed Victor Joselyn, mournfully; “let us 
make each other’s acquaintance first.” 

“May I ask you a few questions then? I know so 
little ” 

“Ask me anything, dear child, as if you were my sister.” 

“ And you will not deem me impertinent? I shall be very 
personal I fear, but I know so little. Ah, well. I am not 
afraid of being misunderstood by you, Victor Joselyn. In 
the first place, then, I wish to understand the precise friend- 
ship which has existed between my sister and you? You 
have been married, signor? Pardon me.” 

“ Yes,” said the stranger, with a face of doubt and pain; 
“but I thought no one knew it. Did she tell you?” 

“ She told me — once,” said I, rather puzzled, “and I think 
others knew it well. Now, will you pardon me for what 
comes i\ext? Your wife died?” 

There was a slight silence; my companion looked at me 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


207 


as if Medusa’s head had grown upon my shoulders, and was 
petrifying him with horror. 

“ My wife died!” he repeated, incredulously. “Oh! Miss 
Ivanilla, can you tell me that so calmly? My wife dead?” 

I could not understand him; I began to feel embar- 
rassed; my cheeks glowed a little; what mistake was I mak- 
ing?” 

“ Let us begin again,” I said, forcing a laughp “I was 
asking you that question, and you retort by asking me one. 
We will be patient and wade throught his labyrinth of miscon- 
ceptions. I shall tell you all that I heard of Victor Joselyn. 
I came from Italy nearly a year ago, and made my sister’s 
acquaintance for the first time since infancy. I soon sus- 
pected that her heart was pledged to some one, but she 
never spoke on the subject. She wore a ring — should I tell 
you this, I wonder? Yes, I should tell Victor Joselyn every- 
thing! — she wore a double ring, and engraven on the inner 
hoop were the letters ‘I. J.’ Have you two names, signor? 
Is Victor the only one?” 

“ My name is Victor Joselyn, nothing else. Go on.” 

“ I once found a water color painting of a scene near 
Saratoga, where you , sir, were holding my sister’s hands, 
with a look which betokened love. I found out that the 
face was that of a Victor Joselyn, who had made the ac- 
quaintance of some young ladies at Saratoga, my sister 
among the rest.” 

“ Yes, I painted it,” interposed my listener, with a sad 
smile; “ it was a sportive gift to my poor girl. Go on.” 

“ My sister once had a letter in her hands, in which by 
accident I read the name, ‘ Mrs. Victor Joselyn.’ I told 
my sister what I had seen, and she said that Mrs. Victor 
Joselyn had been a friend of hers, but was dead.” 

“Did she say that?” he cried, with increasing agitation. 
“ Oh, false Isolina!” 

“ I do not understand! It is a Sphinx’s riddle!” I ejacu- 
lated, almost weeping. “Are you not a widower, then?” 

“I never heard until to-night that I was.” 

“And you have been married! Then — then, sir, was my 
sister in truth any friend of yours? Have I misconstrued?” 

« You have not misconstrued,” he answered. “ Isolina 
was my friend; my closest friend; I married once, and. 
Isolina was the woman whom I married.” 

He caught me once more to his heart, and bent his head 


208 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


upon my shoulder with a sudden sob of grief. His strong 
frame quivered, his heart throbbed in quick muffled beats; 
the memory of that blissful day was rending him; the sacred 
curtain had been drawn too suddenly from that long vailed 
mystery. 

“ Brother/' I breathed solmnly; “ whom God hath joined, 
let no man put asunder! You have a right to claim her 
from every other duty; she is yours. Ah, Victor, let me 
welcome you to a loyal sister's heart." 

My blood glowed with sudden joy, though his strange 
announcement had almost stunned me. Strange that I had 
not deemed that possible before. 

“ She never told us — why was it a secret?" I whispered 
presently. My friend resumed his place, and went on. 

“It was me — all my fault!" he responded, sadly, “I 
bound herto silence for a silly scruple, and I have been 
justly punished in losing her love. Never since the day of 
our union has she suffered me to meet her; oh, Ivanilla she 
implored that we might never meet again!" 

“Why — why?" I exclaimed vehemently. 

“Alas! I cannot tell, I have been led to believe she was 
false to me, and loved another." 

“ It was false!" I responded. “ Oh, Victor, what wrongs 
are we about to unvail?" 

“ I see there is a world of explanations to be made on 
both sides," he said. “ Let me tell my story, dear Ivanilla, 
then you shall tell me yours; we shall then have a better 
chance of understanding how my darling wife was led to 
cast me off, whom she so sweetly and solemnly wowed to 
cling to as her husband.” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


209 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

“FOR o, ’tis love! ■’tis love!” 

** She half inclosed me in her arms, 

She pressed me with a meek embrace, 

And bending back her head, looked up 
And gazed upon my face. 

“ I calmed her fears, and she was calm. 

And told her love with virgin pride, 

And so I won my Genevieve, 

My bright and beauteous bride.” — Coleridge 

The waters rolled in softly and the moon cast her silvery 
rays around us; and in our cozy nook, where perfect silence 
reigned, Victor Joselyn told his story. 

“My father was the only representative of a very old 
family in Somerset, and had an estate which from genera- 
tion to generation had been added to and improved, until 
it was one of the finest to be seen between the Mendip and 
Quantock hills. I believe my father was the first Joselyn 
for centuries who had not been a prize farmer, sportsman, 
and jockey. He was an Oxford man, of high talents, a re- 
fined taste, and a passion for the fine arts. He traveled for 
years through the classic scenes of Greece and Italy, and 
made pilgrimages to Palestine, in which he feasted his in- 
ordinate love of beauty, on everything which was rare and 
priceless. 

“ The mansion of his ancestors was torn down, and a 
stately palace rose in its place, which soon became filled with 
costly and beautiful mementoes of every land he had 
visited. 

“ So much for my father’s character. 

“ I remember little of him; he died when I was ten years 
of age, leaving myself and a sister, two years my junior, 
completely orphaned. My mother I could never remember; 
and her name had always been shunned in our house ever 
since I could recollect. My sister and I had been placed 
under the guardianship of a faithful friend of my father’s 
named Dr. Alphonse Pemberton, who proved almost more 
than a father to us both until I became of age, and took 
possession of my fortune. 


210 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ On that day, my guardian, obeying a secret codicil of 
my father’s will, put me in possession of the strangely hid- 
den history of my mother; and I found that the house, 
which I had always considered untarnished, had its es- 
cutcheon blackened by a stain, which blurred my life for- 
ever. 

, “ During one of his visits to Italy, my father had seen 

in one of the principal theaters of Rome a beautiful actress, 
whose attractions were so extraordinary that he, obeying 
his natural passion for obtaining what pleased his eye, 
almost without knowing who she was, laid his brilliant for- 
tune at her feet, and to his joy was graciously accepted. 

‘ Stella’ forsook the stage, married her English adorer, and 
to the lasting envy of some half a dozen others, was borne 
to the ancient palace on the Lower Avon, in old Somerset. 
Upon more minutely studying his prize, my father found 
her to be the daughter of a patrician family of Florence, 
who in some moment of ill temper had fled from them and 
gone upon the stage. She had a ferocious temper, was an 
infidel of the most daring type, and soon evinced the most 
perfect indifference to her husband, and the children which 
she bore him. 

“ Before long my unfortunate father was glad to rove in 
distant countries more than ever; during which time his 
wife, as the fit seized her, would suddenly leave home and 
her two infant children to travel likewise to various 
places on mysterious missions. In this way, my father once 
met her hurrying through the streets of one of the cities of 
the United States, quite alone and unprotected, as he was 
bringing to a close a long tour which he had made through 
North America. She never made the slightest explanation, 
but went home with my father, and remained a year, dur- 
ing which time he did not venture to leave her alone, as 
her moods seemed more desperate than before. A third 
child was born, a daughter, and when it was three weeks 
old, my wretched mother disappeared with it, and mother 
or child was never heard of since, despite the most careful 
search. I was four years old when this happened; my sister 
Alicia not more than two. 

“ Such was the birthright that became mine with my 
fortune. It changed me from a gay, careless youth, into 
a humiliated brooder, forever chafing over my disgrace. I 
became morbidly alive to every whisper that my galled pride 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZt. 


211 


could construe into pity for my misfortune. My beautiful 
estate and palace halls grew terrible to me; every priceless 
gem of art reminded me of my father's fatal love of the 
beautiful, which had ruined the honor of his name. My 
gentle and lovely sister trembled in my presence; I cast a 
chill gloom over her, for which I loathed myself; yet when 
I tried to be my old self the semblance was so unnatural 
that she grew more terrified -than ever. At last I fell into 
ill health, and my dearest friend, Doctor Pemberton, or- 
dered me to travel. I went the grand tour, treading in the 
very footsteps of my father, and came back as unhappy as 
ever. More so; I was growing fast into a misanthrope. 
I became almost a monomaniac on the subject of my humil- 
iation. I questioned everything. I began to doubt my 
own right to the name I bore. Doctor Pemberton became 
alarmed and once more ordered me away from a scene 
which only plunged me in misery, this time announcing his 
determination to accompany me. We came to America, 
four years after my unhappy grief had come to me, and 
after wandering through every State, North and South, just 
as fancy led us, I at last found what I was in search of, self- 
forgetfulness. Obeying an idle caprice, I urged my friend 
to visit Saratoga for a few days, that I might study, with- 
out mixing in it, the wave of fashionists which ill health 
and ‘ the mode' sent up from the metropolis. 

“The first time I saw IsolinaRienzi, she, in company 
with some other young ladies, was on horseback; they ad- 
vanced toward me like a whirlwind, passed, vanished, and 
left me standing with my sketch-book in my hand, lost in 
astonishment. An old groom, apparently their attendant, 
limped after them on an old nag, which barely sufficed to 
carry him half a mile behind them. As he passed me I 
accosted him. 

“ ‘ What ladies are those who have passed?' 

“‘They are Mrs. Cranstown’s party,' he replied — ‘live 
at the “Wood's Nest.’' ' 

“He rode away immediately; and I returned to the Con- 
gress, where I had left Doctor Pemberton. He was preparing 
for onr departure. 

“ ‘ Let us stay another week,’ I cried with more anima- 
tion than I had felt for years; 1 1 have seen a face.' 

“‘But, my dear boy,"’ exclaimed. my friend; ‘it was only 
yesterday you were sighing for a change! We have been 


212 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


here three days already. What kind of face was it, and 
whose property?’ 

“ 4 It belonged to a lady who is of Mrs. Cranstown’s party, 
and they live at the “ Wood’s Nest.” ’ 

“ 4 So ho! a fair Republican has slain you with one of her 
eyes!’ cried Pemberton. ‘ Bravo! and success to her!’ 

" “ But it was not exactly as the doctor imagined; I had 
been so deeply struck with the incomparable beauty of 
the lady’s face that I felt almost faint for some time after- 
ward, but I had no thought of wishing to claim it, I, the 
disgraced — the humiliated! Still, a desire seized me to 
transfer those lovely features to canvas, that I might have 
the never changing likeness to charm away my embittered 
thoughts by the dumb eloquence of its mild and innocent 
eyes. 

“I think Doctor Pemberton toiled to bring about the 
consummation of my wishes. In a very short time he was 
able to tell me where the ‘ Wood’s Nest’ was, and the names 
of the five young ladies who formed Mrs. Cranstown’s 
party. In two days he introduced me in triumph to the 
chaperon herself, who was visiting some friends at the 
hotel where we staid, and we received a friendly invitation 
to accompany her then and there to the Wood’s Nest, 
which was a cottage two miles out of the little town. I 
shall never, while this heart is fresh, forget the emotions 
which rushed over me when my unknown queen of all 
beauty was presented to me as ‘ Miss Isolina Rienzi,’ and I 
held her small magnetic hand in mine. Something which 
had been lost for y^ars came back to me; once more my 
heart, which had been frozen gall, melted to the sweetness 
of home. What I hoped, I could, not tell. Her pure, 
modest eyes had revealed themselves to me, and I was 
happy. How swiftly the six weeks passed away! My 
faithful friend forbore to remind me in the slightest of the 
flight of time, but rather fostered my new-found interest 
by every act. He became an invaluable chaperon and con- 
fidant on all occasions to the merry girls, and I believe they 
scarcely cared to make up any little excursion or picnic 
without us. 

“ In this intercourse I rarely mingled, except on the out- 
skirts, as it were. It was bliss enough for me to study the 
sweet, retiring loveliness of Isolina Rienzi, among the gay, 
sprightly, or sentimental dispositions of her companions. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


213 


I sketched them all in groups, which I allowed them to 
criticise and praise to their hearts’ content; but I stole the 
lovely face of Isolina for my canvas, in all its moods and 
tenses, with a secrecy which puzzled myself. I never 
dreamed of addressing her alone; ngy, more, I seldom ven- 
tured to speak to her at all, though I was on terms of play- 
ful intimacy with all the rest. Yet there was a silent sym- 
pathy between us which seemed to require no vehicle of 
speech, but throve on now and then a long, tender, yet 
proud gaze from her royal eyes, and sometimes the sudden 
touching of the hands. 

‘•But my dream was rudely broken. Letters reached us 
from England, with the startling intelligence that my sister 
Alicia had been sent home from her studies in London, seri- 
ously ill, and her medical attendant apprehended the worst 
results; if I would see her alive, I must hasten home. 
When I received this letter, a storm of mixed griefs assailed 
me; all at once I felt the depth — the strength — the sweet- 
ness of my love for the ‘Beautiful Rienzi.’ I must leave 
her, and turn to my despair again. My gentle sister, whose 
affection might have saved me, was dying; the last scion of 
my blood was about to be snatched away. Ivanilla, you can 
appreciate the sorrows of my position. 

“ In the midst of my despair. Doctor Pemberton came to 
me, and his advice showed how his heart was interested in 
my happiness. 

“ ‘ Don't sit there with your head down, man,’ he cried; 
‘throw trouble to the dogs. Go to your lovely lady — I’ll war- 
rant there’s one in the case, that makes you grip to America 
like this — and tell her right square up what you want. I 
don’t think she’s the girl to send you home to poor Allie 
uncomforted.’ 

“ I was almost in a frenzy. 

“ ‘I have been in a dream!’ I exclaimed. ‘I forgot my 
tainted name and my doubtful honor when I dared to look 
upon Isolina Rienzi. She would turn with loathing from 
the sou of an actress, whose dishonor has swallowed up in 
its blackness her miserable children!’ 

“ ‘She’ll forgive all but faults in you. Go and try her, 
urged Pemberton, warmly. ‘ Oh, man, what do you know 
about woman?’ 

“ I had to leave Saratoga that evening, so there was no 
time for reflection. I went straight to the cottage, my 


214 


BEAUTIFUL MENZL 


mind in a whirl of re-awakened humiliation and grief. My 
sense of honor was so inflamed that I felt it to be ungen- 
erous-nay, dastardly— to seek to sully her by asking her to 
share my degradation. 

“ I determined to bid them all farewell and go with my 
passion unspoken. But fortune had another course open 
for me. The ladies were all gone to some picnic or flower 
party, all but my treasure; and so I trod the well-known 
path by the ^rook-side, which was shut in by alders and 
wild wreaths* of honeysuckle. There — just on the spot 
where once she and I had stood hand in hand for one sweet 
moment, while the other ladies flitted gayly up to the cot- 
tage from their flower-gardening — there stood my darling, 
weeping. 

“ With one spring I was by her side; her sweet hands 
were in mine; my new-formed resolutions were flying to the 
four winds — my mind rudderless. I was blind with the 
rush of passion; but I managed to be gentle. 

“ ‘What was the matter?’ 

“ ‘ She was tired, lonely — had been shedding a few foolish 
tears — forget them.’ 

“I could wait to hear no more; a swift foreknowledge 
quivered through me with a joy which was so intense that 
darts of delicious agony shot through my heart. I clasped 
her in my arms. 

“‘Tell me that you were lonely for me/ I whispered, 
hoarsely. 

“ Her lovely head drooped to my breast; she trembled, 
and with scarcely conscious hands clung to me. 

“ ‘Oh, Love! are you mine?’ I breathed again; ‘have I 
your heart?’ 

“She shuddered yet more; suddenly she drew from my 
arms and stood a moment motionless, with drooping, pallid 
face; then she flew to me and flung her arms about me, and 
that averted countenance was raised, with modest, burning 
cheeks and staring eyes, which poured one of those strange 
looks, solemn and tender, into mine. Oh, the joy of that 
moment! Heaven seemed faint in comparison. She was 
mine — this peerless Isolina Rienzi, whom I had not dared to 
woo — this was she, embracing me! I pressed my burning 
kisses upon the thrilling lips, upon the meek and loving eyes 
which had answered me so generously, upon the pale brow 
and scarlet, tingling cheeks. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


215 


“You smile, Ivanilla. Ah, Heaven bless you for these 
glittering tears — thank you, my little sister. 

“ But earth surged in at last. We had met but to part; 
oceans must roll between us; I must leave this pure, heavenly 
being, who had crowned me with her love. And I, what 
was 1 ? 

This last thought stung me from my mad joy like an 
adder. I put her from me and leaned against the tree, 
ghastly with the rush of horror. Wretch that I was to for- 
get my degradation! 

“ ‘ AYhat has grieved you? Tell me/ murmured my gen- 
tle companion, tremulously; ‘ you know I have a right to 
comfort you now/ 

“ Oh, sweet consoler! how strong in her love, and yet how 
feeble she was — standing there, offering comfort to me l 

“ ‘ You are my Victor now/ she whispered, with a shy 
and quivering smile; ‘lay half your grief on me. Ah, can 
you not trust Isolina?’ 

“ I know not how, she slid within my arms again, and was 
pressed fiercely to my dark heart, which leaped at the sweet 
touch, and conquered once more the honor I should have 
had. I should have kept my guilty secret and given her 
back the liberty I had stolen from her: it was selfish in me, 
when I was sure of her woman’s love for me, to blast her 
sweet trust with such an ordeal. But when all was told — • 
when she knew that the house of Joselyn had an ever-present 
skeleton in its chair of state — that the stain upon its 
escutcheon was whispered of and pitied by baser-born churls 
of yesterday’s making; that, I, the heir of Joselyn, might be 
confronted at any moment by her who was once my mother, 
and hissed from my patrimony with the stigma which leaves 
its victim nameless — when this story of polluting darkness 
had been poured into the ears of the innocent lady upon 
whom I had set my degrading seal, once more she took my 
hand in hers and looked bravely in my face. 

“ ‘ What shall I do to prove that all this makes no differ- 
ence in my love for you?” she cried, ardently. 

“ ‘ What? Would you still share the fortunes of such a 
wretch?’ I exclaimed, incredulously. 

“ ‘ How can I prove that a woman’s heart is deeper than 
your fears would imply,’ she said again. 

“And now, Ivanilla, I committed a cruel wrong against 
the woman whom I loved, in taking advantage of the utter 


216 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


self-abnegation of her love to bind her indissolubly to my- 
self. 

“You will scorn me, as I scorn myself, when you hear 
how I repaid her generosity. 

“ ‘You see me now, perhaps at my best,’ I replied, 
gloomily; ‘perhaps you would loathe me at my worst — a 
homeless, defamed, nameless outcast/ 

“ ‘ Never — never/ she returned, clasping her hands. 

“‘Prove it then, by binding yourself to me by a tie 
which no man can break/ I uttered, in a low, husky voice. 

“ She started, and became a little paler. 

“ ‘ I will give you my vow to be constancy itself/ she 
murmured. 

“ ‘ Vows are idle words, when remorse and contempt 
come between/ I returned, impulsively. ‘ Nay, my Iso- 
lina; put yourself beyond the power of* friends who would 
preach down your heart; be my wife this night, that I may 
claim you when I return/ 

She flushed to the brow, and stood away from me. 

“ ‘ Without father or mother to say, “Heaven bless you 
both!” without friends of either to approve? No, Victor/ 

“Then I flung myself on the ground at her feet, with 
the despair at my heart painting dark assurances. I en- 
treated and urged, remembering only my selfish fears, until 
she came to me and raised me from my abject frenzy. 

“ ‘ Never plead so to me, my Victor/ she said, leaning 
against me with a low sob; ‘ I will marry you, as you wish, 
and glory in my chains. The marriage vow can take the 
place of the customary engagement; each is sacred to me/ 

“ I caught her rapturously in my arms and whispered 
rapid directions, to which she listened with a hidden face. 

“ ‘Do not let it be known/ she whispered, ‘ it would be 
called so very, very imprudent of me — and I do not think 
it is, for I do love and trust but one, and should never 
marry another. Victor, this is only a solemn betrothal/ 

“ I read her sweet, girlish fears, and reassured her. The 
marriage should only be a betrothal, which bound us in- 
dissolubly, and no one should know of it except my friend 
Pemberton whom I could trust, and perhaps some one in 
the cottage whose reserve could be relied upon. 'When I 
could return from England we should be married publicly. 

“ ‘Yes, yes;’ said my treasure, who was now quite radiant, 
‘and we shall tell papa and mamma and little Ivanilla all 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


217 


about our foolish former marriage. But Victor, there’s no 
one in the cottage can be a witness; Miss Cranstown’s old 
groom would run for a policeman, and the lady’s maid is 
not to be thought of, and our old housekeeper would tell all 
about it to Louisa, and Belle, and Blanche, and Eleanor, 
and think she is recounting a love-match of twenty years 
back; oh, no, love, not Mrs. Halcombe.’, 

“ ‘We can easily get a second witness,’ I exclaimed. 

‘ But come, darling and get your hat, we have not long.’ 

“‘ What? this very minute?’ she said turning pale and 
carnation by turns. 

“ ‘ I’ll tell yon,’ I cried, heart-smitten at the sacrifice I 
demanded, * you shall not have to leave the cottage. I will 
bring a clergyman, and my friend, and be here in an hour. 
Mrs. Ilalcombe shall receive our adieus for the ladies who 
are absent, and no gossip can be raised.’ 

“When I was twenty rods away, down the brook path, I 
turned back with a new fear. 

“ ‘ IIow old are you?’ I gasped. ‘ Are you under age?’ 

“ She crimsoned between surprise and amazement. 

“ ‘ How fortunate that you did not ask me ten days ago,’ 
she said. ‘I was twenty-one on the fifth day of July. Four 
years younger than my inquisitive Victor.’ 

“ This afforded me another sweet reason for clasping her 
in my arms. How did she know my age — witch? 

“ She had heard Dr. Pemberton mention the date of my 
coming of age; could she ever forget anything that referred 
to me? No! nothing — nothing, since she first met my eyes. 

“ I tore myself trom her a second time, buoyant and tri- 
umphant. As soon as I presented myself to Pemberton, he 
shook hands with me furiously. 

“ tf It was yes,’ he cried, ‘let me congratulate you.’ 

“ He stared at me when I told him all. 

“‘Very imprudent, very!’ he said; ‘I wouldn’t advise 
you to do the poor young thing such an injustice — if only 
for the sake of her name. I once had a dear friend of that 
name — lie’s dead long years ago, poor fellow; but this girl, 
Isolina, I’ve loved strangely, just because of her name. 
Don’t/ my dear Victor, if you can’t trust to her heart, you 
needn’t trust to the wedding-ring either.’ 

“ ‘It’s no sacrifice for her,’ I cried, radiantly, ‘she’s wil- 
ling and what difference can it make? Only that imperti- 


218 i BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 

nent suitors cannot be pawned upon her, should her friends 
choose to frown npon me/ 

“ I believe this last argument vanquished him; the idea 
of any one looking down the claims of a Joselyn, roused his 
instant antagonism; he was not enthusiastic like me, but he 
came, determined to prevent my new-found happiness from 
being dashed from my lips. 

“ We went to the Rev. Willard Melville, whose church 
we had attended during our two months’ stay, and laid the 
facts of the case before him, JSe got us a license without 
difficulty, and prepared to accompany us. His wife, woman- 
like, sympathized with the lonely young bride and begged 
to be allowed to go with us, and be her friend on the occasion. 
So we returned in a cab, to the cottage, with the necessary 
documents and the two witnesses. 

‘‘The cottage parlor was empty, a Bible on the table, 
flowers on every stand. Mrs. Melville went up stairs and 
tapped at the closed door which shut in my darling. In a 
few minutes they came down, my love trembling and cling- 
ing wistfully to her one female friend. 

“Oh! how lovely she was! The simplest of white robes 
clad her bewitching form; a single white rose, like curdled 
pearls, nestled in her bosom, a meet emblem of her girlish 
purity of heart. 

“ In ten minutes she was bound to me, by the forms of the 
Presbyterian Church, in a tie which no man could break. 
My friend Pemberton and Mrs. Melville signed their names 
as witnesses; they all wished the new-made bride joy and 
prosperity, and my friend told her to write to him if any 
service could be given at his hands. Then they all drove 
away, and left me one hour to spend with Isolina. 

“ ‘Do you repent?’ I whispered, proudly. 

“ ‘ No — oh, no,’ she answered, while her timid heart flew 
into her eyes; ‘not if you are satisfied.’ ” 

“ I sat down, but not alone; my wife was clasped in my 
arms; those lovely, tremulous lips would never be another’s; 
the heart beating so wildly, so timidly, was mine forever. 
What joy — and yet what cruel agony to recall the vanished 
sweetness now. 

“ And yet I had to put aside these raptures, and make my 
hurried plans to render our enforced separation less painful. 
I made her promise to write me constantly, addressing her 
letters to Dr. Pemberton. Our little secret should be kept 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


219 


until I could return and openly claim her. If unforeseen 
trouble arose she was instantly to summon me, and I would 
assume my proper place as her husband. 

“All this I proposed, to soothe the trembling misgivings 
of my dear girl; the moment of our parting was drawing 
near and grief was swelling in her lovely bosom. She feared 
some dark misfortune — we should never meet again — some- 
thing would come between us. 

“ ‘Nothing can, my own wife, but death!' I whispered. 

“We both live, Ivanilla, but her foreboding has come to 
pass. 

“At last I had to go. I gazed once more into those love- 
some eyes, which beamed as if Heaven s constancy dwelt 
within them; I pressed in my arms a form which clung to 
me with throbbing heart, and fond, murmured words; I 
breathed for the last time the dear farewell to my wife. My 
good friend Pemberton rushed out at the last moment for 
me, and our parting was mercifully brief. Still I remem- 
bered my beautiful bride, standing in the door of the little 
cottage, pale, tearful, yet striving to smile lest my heart 
should break — her last word a heroic one. 

“ ‘There is nothing to fear — I do not regret.’ 

“ In a few minutes we were far apart, and I was steaming 
toward New York. When I reached the city I purchased 
the wedding-ring, and had my wife’s initials engraved in- 
side, with the date on which the ring should reach her — 
‘July 16th.’ I had an old family ring of the Joselyns, a 
curious piece of workmanship intended to conceal a ring in- 
side; this I slipped the ring into, and sent with my first let- 
ter to my wife. It was during my passage home to England 
that I soothed my bereaved heart, by painting that picture 
of our love-scene behind the cottage, and which afterward 
in playful sport I sent to Isolina. 

“ I arrived home to find my sister in a decline, and rap- 
idly failing. The joy which she felt at my return produced 
for a time a favorable effect; she rallied and seemed to throw 
off the disease. I was like my old self; and she clung to me 
with the most touching affection. I told her the secret 
source of my happiness; with what sympathy and wondering 
interest she listened; then when my darling’s letters began 
to arrive, breathings of the purest and most exalted con- 
stancy, how my gentle sister’s tears of love fell as I would 
read to her passages which she might share. 


220 


BEAUTlPUL RIENZL 


“ ‘ Oh, if I might live to welcome home your noble Do- 
lma!’ she used to sigh. But it was not to be. 

“ The disease returned with fell power, and almost with- 
out warning she passed away. On the 5th of November I 
buried her beside my father in the Joselyn vault. 

“I was now alone; the last of my blood was beneath a 
marble slab; nothing bound me to my echoing halls but the 
grief which for a time prostrated me. 

“Dr. Pemberton, ever faithful, reminded me that happi- 
ness awaited me across the ocean; that my noble-hearted 
young bride would console me; and that it was my duty to 
go at once and claim her. 

“ The thought of her devotion, which had expressed itself 
in every letter, fired me with new hope. I would take her 
to my arms and reward her by a life of love for the noble 
sacrifice which she had made for me. I quietly got ready 
and prepared to embark by the first steamer. The carriage 
was at the door which was to convey me to the railway sta- 
tion, when a packet arrived by the Liverpool mail. It was 
from my wife, inclosing the six letters which I had written 
her, and demanding in the most imploring language a di- 
vorce, assigning no reason, but on the contrary forbidding 
me to make any inquiries into reasons which were strong and 
fatal as death. 

“ Such was the letter which came to me on the 14th of 
November. ” 


CHAPTER NXIX. 

VICTOR JOSELYN’S STORY — CONTINUED. 

“ O, she is fallen 
Into a pit of ink! that the wild sea 
Hath drops too few to wash her clean again, 

And salt too little which may season give 
To her foul tarnished flesh!” 

Much Ado About Nothing. 

“ I remained so long shut up with my wife’s letter, that 
at last Dr. Pemberton came to the door. 

“‘We shall be late for the cars/ he cried, ‘what has 
come over you, my dear boy?’ 

“I opened the door, and with ghastly composure, waved 
him in. I felt as if I should never speak again. I pointed 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


221 


to the letter, and dropped, like a lump of lifeless clay, upon 
my chair again. The contents had simply stunned me; as 
yet I was insensible to wrath or grief. The doctor read it 
and folded it up carefully. 

“ ‘It’s some infernal conspiracy!’ he exclaimed, ‘'and I 
am not going to believe she ever penned this letter until she 
says so with her own lips. She’s not the girl to throw you 
over treacherously. We’ll see her face to face, and clear 
this up.’ 

“The passage from England, was like a heavy dream; it 
passed me and left me in the same condition in which I 
had left my home. On the 29th of November, I, with my 
friend, arrived in New York. 

“We had not left the steamer, when a young man whose 
acquaintance I had made in Saratoga a few days before I 
left, accosted me, and desired to speak with me. I told him 

to call at Hotel in an hour, where I would be located. 

He would not leave me but accompanied me to the hotel in 
a carriage. When we were alone, the young man whose 
manner was very mysterious, locked the door, and slowly 
advanced, until he was close before me. 

“ ‘Victor Joselyn, you have come to this city for one who 
will send you back alone;’ he said in a low, concentrated 
voice; ‘ her heart has changed to you, and she sighs to be 
free.’ 

“ "Who are you sir, that knows my private movements 
and intentions so well?’ I demanded; ‘who has commis- 
sioned Cecil Beaumont to pronounce my destiny?’ 

“ ‘I am Victor Joselyn’s successor to the hand of Isolina 
Bienzi!’ he answered, fixing his burning eyes on mine. 

“‘Wretch!’ I cried, striking him; ‘take that for slan- 
der!’ 

“ He stood motionless, though his face had withered to 
colorless marble. 

“‘Do you wish a proof of what Isay?’ he whispered. 
‘See, then. She has promised to be mine to-night; there 
will be a concert; I am to fly with her from the concert. 
You shall go there; you will see her enter the hall leaning 
upon my arm; this will be proof that she has cast you off. 
Are you satisfied?’ 

“ ‘No!’ I shrieked; ‘ not until I see her face to face!’ 

“ ‘ You will request an interview, then, to-day; she shall 


222 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


refuse it; you may persecute her if you are unmanly enough, 
she will fly from you, she loathes — fears Victor Joselyn/ 

“‘Demon!’ I shouted and felled him to the floor. 

“He slowly rose, and stood once more before me, and 
gazed at me with folded arms. 

“ ‘You have struck me twice; you have called me slan- 
derer/ he uttered, in the same fiercely repressed voice, ‘ ancT 
yet this hand remains passive. Know you whom you 
have felled at your feet, Victor Joselyn? Your younger 
brother P 

“ I turned from him in contempt. 

“ ‘ I would stab you to the heart for the insolence you 
have given me/ he continued, bitterly; ‘ but the same 
blood flows in our veins — the blood of the actress, Victor 
Joselyn — the false wife — the false mother, who forsook her 
children to enslave anew other men, and degrade other 
children — the woman who lives this day, and if I choose 
to whisper the word, will confront you and claim the hom- 
age of her firstborn. Ha ha! brother — let me shake your 
hand/ 

“ I waved him from me, and groaned and fell. 

“When I recovered, the mocking vision had disappeared, 
and i)r. Pemberton was holding me in his arms. 

“ I poured the sinister story into his ears, and for the 
first time his faith was shaken in Isolina. 

“ ‘ Put her from you, boy!’ he exclaimed, ‘her heart has 
deceived you and her; she is perfidious, or that young man 
would not have been sent to you/ 

“‘I will not believe Isolina false without sure proof P I 
said. 

“We agreed that I should send "a note to my wife, de- 
manding an interview; that I should describe the contents 
of the letter that I had received in England, and ask if she 
had written it; that I should demand the reasons of her de- 
sire for a separation, if such was the case. 

“ A messenger w r as sent with the letter, and ordered to 
deliver it into the hand of Miss Rienzi herself, and to 
wait for an answer. He returned in an hour with a note, 
written, beyond all doubt, by the hand of my wife, and it 
said: 

“ ‘ Despise me if you must; loathe me if it will assist you to forget 
me. The fault does not lie with you; I renounce our sacred vows; I 
demand liberty, and oblivion of the 15th of July. I have my reasons 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


223 


in my own bosom; attempt not to unvail my secret. If there is one 
spark of mercy left in your heart for such a worm as her you once 
loved, forbear to see her; return to England and live again. I. It.’ 

“ Every word of this unnatural letter was damnatory evi- 
dence of the truth of Cecil Beaumont’s boast; she was in- 
constant; her very initials, which were no longer those of 
her husband, proved that she wished to be free. 

“ ‘Let us try one more chance,’ said Pemberton; ‘and if 
she’s as false as I begin to think her, we’ll off this very 
night from cursed New York, and leave mother and wife 
to follow their own devices. We’ll go to the concert-room 
— she can’t forbid yon a public hall, and we’ll judge for 
ourselves/ 

“ We drove at the hour appointed to the Cvbelle Concert- 
jroom, and quietly took our places behind a pillar where we 
could see without being seen. I was watching the grand 
entrance, expecting to see my wife enter as one of the audi- 
ence, when my friend violently plucked my sleeve. I looked 
upon the platform and beheld her whom I had come to 
claim as wife, enter, leaning on Cecil Beaumont's arm, a 
flush of pleasure on her face; magnificently dressed, my 
double ring discarded, though she had fondly written to 
me once that it should never leave her hand until her heart 
was cold in death. 

“Stunned and maddened, I sat and watched; her treach- 
ery seemed complete. When she came forward to sing with 
you a duet, Beaumont crept near, and methoughthis mock- 
ing, triumphant glance swept round the hall to find the 
man whom he had supplanted; those lurid eyes — so like 
the haunting eyes which sometimes pursued me from my 
childhood, and which were indeed the eyes of my wretched 
mother — seemed to sneer and laugh at my calamity, and 
crazed me with sudden frenzy. Heedless of my friend’s 
restraining hand, 1 leaped from behind the pillar and stood 
quivering with fury before my faithless wife. 

“She saw me, and with an affrighted shriek fell back 
and fainted, while you, her small, foreign -looking compan- 
ion, gazed wildly from face to face for the cause of her 
terror. 

“ The sight of the miserable girl lying senseless at your 
feet, tore my heart with remorse. With a heart turned to 
steel I walked out of the house, and my anxious friend 
kept close to my heels. 


224 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“He was afraid I would do something desperate; he 
was mistaken. I was never more calm; my ideas ranged 
themselves with precision; I felt composed as a frozen sea. 

“ We entered our cab; at the moment a small Canadian 
sleigh passed by us and dashed furiously on; it contained 
Cecil Beaumont and my wife; her head was upon his 
shoulder, his arm was passed round her, exultation flashed 
over his face. 

“‘This is the last act of the drama!’ I said, pointing 
to them; ‘there goes my wife and my successor to her 
vows!’ 

“ ‘Pursue them!’ shouted Pemberton; ‘horsewhip the fel- 
low!’ 

“ ‘No,’ I answered; ‘that man is beyond my vengeance; 
a wrathful Heaven has decreed that he should be my 
brother.’ 

“ There was a. steamer about to leave for Boston that 
same night, and in it I determined to take passage, and 
leave the city of my humiliation. I no longer desired to 
confront my wife; I washed my hands of her, and resolved 
henceforth to leave her free. 

“ The pang which rankled longest was the discovery that 
she was not the pure, high-souled being I had worshiped; 
that the transcendent virtues and the nobility of her morals 
had not been genuine; that the Isolina of my love was a 
heavenly creation that had never existed. 

“ I wished to procure some sort of divorce, in order to 
leave her the more completely free, but Pemberton sternly 
opposed the measure, on account of the publicity which 
would ensue. 

“ ‘She has not waited for a divorce,’ he said, bitterly; 
‘and you are not bound to drag your horses into deeper 
mire, until you have a handle to go by. When she has 
publicly betrayed her marriage vows, then you shall sue 
for a divorce, and when free, unite yourself to a worthy 
lady of your own land, and perpetuate the name of your 
house.’ 

“• ‘The name shall die with me!’ I exclaimed, firmly; ‘I 
have wedded for the last time!’ 

“ In due time we returned to Joselyn Wold, but I only 
staid until my affairs were all wound up. I appointed 
Pemberton guardian of my estate; made my will, leaving 
the whole of the immense wealth which had made the Jose- 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


225 


lynsso haughty, to endow medical colleges; named Pember- 
ton as sole executor and manager. 

Having thus deliberately cut myself adrift from my na- 
tive land, I wandered about, sometimes the guest of an 
Arab shiek, sometimes a dweller in the palace of the grand 
vizier. 

“ My life was imperiled a hundred times, by the- sand- 
storm of the desert; by hunger, thirst, sun-stroke, or the 
sword of the fierce native. 

“ Sometimes my thoughts lingered sadly about my for- 
saken land — my desolate Wold; if I had had a little sister 
waiting for my return, what strange treasures would I have 
gathered from the land of thirst and sunshine. 

“At length I went to Astrabad, hearing that the plague 
was raging through it, and as I had some knowledge of the 
treatment of the disease, I hoped to benefit some one of the 
devoted people who were dying by hundreds. For the next 
two months I was occupied happily in alleviating the suf- 
ferings of my fellow-creatures, and I succeeded in checking 
the progress of the plague, six weeks earlier than had hap- 
pened in twenty years. , 

“ The plague was quelled at Astrabad, but it broke out 
with fury at Saree, to which I immediately repaired. 

“ I had not been at Saree more than a fortnight, when 
a caravan came into the city from Astrabad with a Mahom- 
med'an boy who carried an English letter for me. 

“ Here it is, covered with grease and postmarks, with not 
a little Zend scrawling— to send it to Saree by a sure hand. 
And these are the contents: 


“ ‘My Dear Victor:— Return immediately. I have reason to believe 
that a member of your family has been separated from you by fraud- 
you know who I mean. I am about to return to America to find the 
truth of the suspicion. Shape your course directly to New York. You 
will find a letter waiting for you in box — P. 0. No more expla- 
nations in this, as it may not reach you. God speed my boy. 

••Yours, Alphonse Pembebton. 

« This letter startled me out of my apathy. It broke, 
like the peal which rends the thunder-cloud, my false resig- 
nation, and brought back to me the wild sweetness of the 

life which was forever gone. 

“That same night I left Saree with a company of silk 
merchants, and journeyed to the Caspian Sea. I have not 
tested night or day for the last four weeks; even on board 


226 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


the steamer which brought me to Boston, I was like a rest- 
less spirit unshriven. When I reached New York I found 
a latter at the post-office from my friend, telling me to come 
to a place called Ranelagh and inquire for the family of my 
wife. I am to stay at Ranelagh until Doctor Pemberton 
can join me, and tell me the secret conspiracy that has been 
made against my happiness. 

“ I asked at the village for the family of Rienzi, and was 
directed to Silverlea. 

“ I am here, blindly obeying the directions of my mentor; 
he has brought me from the ends of the earth; from forget- 
fulness and resignation under my lonely lot, to Silverlea. 
What is to be the result?” 


CHAPTER XXX. 

A SHADOW UNDER MY STAR. . 

“ You ask what is to be the result,” I said, speaking for 
the first time since my friend began his story; “and it is a 
great riddle to me. Your history has filled me with astonish- 
ment. God seems to have brought us very near together, 
under one trial. I am bewildered. Can it be possible that 
the woman who has attempted our ruin so persistently is 
also the curse of the House of Joselvn ? Let me ask you one 
question, Victor. What was ( StellaV maiden name?” 

“Gemma Lancinetto, of the House of Lancinetto, in 
Florence; a haughty family, indeed.” 

I clasped my hands in superstitious awe. 

“ She it is who has twice attempted my life, once at- 
tempted the life of my mother, by a poisoned ring, and 
cast her mysterious coils so thickly round our hapless 
Isolina that she has fled from our arms and gone, no one 
knows whither.” 

“You amaze me, Ivanilla! Can this be what Doctor 
Pemberton means? Can my wretched mother be the cause 
of the separation of my wife from me? But alas! I can never 
forget that Cecil Beaumont supplanted me.” 

“Isolina has not been false,” I replied, in a trembling 
voice; “ whatever cause has led her to act so, I believe she 
loves you still. Oh, Victor! when you hear the true story 
of poor Cecil Beaumont you will not deem my sister in- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


227 


consistent for love of him! My brother, I welcome you to 
the bosom of a family which has been sorely tried; your 
affliction shall but cement the bond of love between us. I 
kiss you on the brow, iny long-loved Victor Joselyn. Now 
I shall tell you my story. Where it touches on yours I know 
not; I shall tell you all, and may God comfort you.” 

******* 

Again the sun rose over Silverlea. 

I was up first and paced the upper balcony, in the light 
of the rising sun, to commune with the God I felt to be 
my friend. 

Victor Joselyn was beneath our roof; he slept sweetly 
after his long travel — slept peacefully among his friends. 
How lovely— how lovely was this Silverlea when bathed by 
morning’s rosiest light! Creator of this matchless beauty, 
come down and fill this heart with patience, and teach it 
how to hope! 

Something struck me lightly on the breast, and fell on 
the balcony floor. A ball of crumpled paper. 

I gazed eagerly about, and down to the pillars beneath, 
but saw no one. I lifted the ball of paper and opened it. 
“ Isolina /” I muttered with a swoop of hope at my heart. 
It was in my sister’s writing, and began with my sister’s 
name. I turned it to the orient clouds and read: 

*•' Isolina prays Ivanilla Rienzi to have no fear, but to 
follow the messenger, that she may hear from her she loves 
faithfully what has torn her from her family. Come alone, 
and privately, if you would see for the last time your ever- 
loving — ever-remembering Isolina. ” 

And she had appealed to me; she would see me once 
more, and then we must meet no more on earth. 

Where was the messenger? I was all impatience to obey 
the call. Fear ? I forgot the caution; wherever my lost sister 
was, it would be safe for me. 

I leaned on the leafy parapets, and gazed abroad with 
eager, brightening eyes. 

“ Come — I am ready,” I murmured, kissing the fluttering 
note. 

Still I saw nothing but the snowy shafts of trees and 
dark waving branches; how should I conjure this mes- 
senger into visibility? A thought struck me; I must go 


228 BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 

now, and alone, or the messenger would not discover him- 
self. 

I stepped into the upper hall from the balcony. No one 
had risen; it was not four o’clock; I might be far away be- 
fore they would miss me. I must not attempt to take any 
one with me; she had said, “ Come alone, and privately/’ 
I prepared myself hurriedly, and supplied myself with some 
money; there might be need; she might be induced to fly 
with me; I must be able to command resources. When I 
was ready I found a pencil and tore the fly-leaf out of 
Dante’s Inferno; my fingers trembled, but I wrote some 
lines to those who would miss me: 

“ Dear Mother — Dear Victor: — Isolina has sent for me. I fnust go 
secretly or not see her at all. I am going with the messenger, who 
came to me as I was on the balcony at sunrise. I trust in God, and am 
afraid of nothing. I will bring her back if this hand ever touches hers 
again. Pray for us both — and do not ” 

I could not finish ; agitation, and anxiety made the words 
illegible. I inclosed my sister’s note inside, and left them 
on my dressing-table. I flung myself upon my knees and 
prayed for wisdom and guidance. 

I was calm when I stepped upon the balcony. 

“ Come now,” I breathed, audibly. 

“ Are you alone?” replied a voice beneath me. 

“ Yes, I am alone.” 

I strained my eyes at every mass of foliage, but saw noth- 
ing. 

“ Go down to the beach behind the house, and if no one 
follows you I will meet you there.” 

Step by step I stole down the balcony stairs, and looked 
within the piazza for the owner of the voice. 

“ Let me see you,” I said, softly. 

There was no reply. I waited a long time. I began to 
feel a little afraid. 

Then a man appeared from behind a rock and stood be- 
fore me. I shrank back in dismay. 

“Kalph Morecombe!” 

“ There is no time to lose. Come away.” 

“ Are you my sister’s messenger.?” 

“Yes, yes. “Are you parleying here until some one 
comes?” 

“ I have given you my word that I am alone. Can you 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZl 


229 


expect me to trust to you, whom I know to be a bitter ene- 
my, without any proof of your good faith?” 

“ I have no proof, if the letter I brought was none. I 
told her that you would not trust yourself with me, and she 
said the letter I was the bearer of would be sufficient. Miss 
Ivan ilia, I have delivered my message, and I have been re- 
fused. I will go back to her and say so.” 

“ No, you shall not!” I exclaimed. “ Her letter shall be 
sufficient. I will go.” 

“ Why did Miss Rienzi hesitate so long?” returned the 
man, fixing his wild Bohemian eyes searchingly on my face. 

“ Was she waiting for the eyes to come which would spy? 
How many legs has she employed to give chase?” 

“I employed none but the eyes of God to watch us. 
Evade them if you can, Ralph Morecombe.” 

“ Ah! I was hoping that villain. Nelson, would lurk 
within reach of my hand/’ said the old Italian, clenching 
his fist and shaking it at Silverlea in a sudden paroxysm of 
fury. “How I would have gripped his varlet throat. 
How I would have hustled him over the rock into the last 
trough he’d ever wallow in. He to smite me — the dog!” 

“ I am ready to follow you,” I said, in a mild voice. 

He glanced at me less fiercely, then started at a rapid 
pace along the beach toward the village, I following close 
behind. 

Presently we struck the road which leads to Ranelagh, 
and there, tied to a tree, I saw the brown horse and carriage 
whose acquaintance my readers have made before. 

I came to a determined stand. 

“Before I proceed farther, I must demand some proof 
that this is not a conspiracy to put me in the power of Mrs. 
Ringwood!” I exclaimed. w . , . .. 

“ Your sister wrote that letter. Would she have told 
you to rush into danger? I have no proof, madam; I do 
not wish you to come. If you are still afraid, I will go 

without vou.” . * 

He deliberately climbed into the carriage, took up the • 
reins, and turned into the high-road. He seemed quite 

ready to drive off without me. 

I allowed him to proceed until I was quite sure he would ' 
leave me, then I called to him: 

“Comeback.” 

“ Are you coming, then?” 


280 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


(< Yes.” 

“ Without any proof that I do not intend to murder you, 
and put your body into the first well?” 

“ Ye3.” 

He took my hand and assisted me to the seat at his side. 
Instantly we dashed off at a rapid rate; through the dusty 
lane behind the village, and away into the country beyond, 
where fresh scenes gyrated in rapid succession before my 
watchful eyes. 

“ When "shall we reach my sister?” I asked. 

f‘ Madam will be able to tell to a minute, when she is 
there,” responded the man in his pure, cutting diction. 

“ What do you mean, sir, by such discourtesy ?” I re- 
torted, with some indignation. “ Answer me.” 

“ To oblige Miss Rienzi, I’ll not quarrel with her, but to 
oblige myself, I’ll not answer her.” 

“ Your reasons, sir; I must have them.” 

“Very good; very well. The reason is that you and I 
may disagree any moment after you find out exactly where 
you are going; and in your anger you may post back to 
Ranelagh by the cars at Crookle-Back, and set the village 
on our track, which you know would neither be keeping to 
your lady sister’s injunctions nor endangering yourself.” 

“ Your caution is admirable, sir. If I should never re- 
turn to my parents, they will be unable to trace my fate. 
Be assured, however, that I will not be betrayed into dan- 
ger without a struggle. I am not a coward.” 

“I think you are not a coward,” said the wild being at 
my side, flickering a sudden glance at me; “and I see you 
are a regular mastiff for those you love.” 

“ Tell me — tell me,” I exclaimed, encouraged by the 
kindly glance which the coal-black eyes had given; “ is my 
sister well? is she happy?” 

“ Ask the lady when you meet.” 

After two hours’ drive, we entered a small and smoky 
settlement, where a ruinous wooden bridge spanned a 
muddy inlet of the sea. This was Crookle-Back Bridge. 

A train had just stopped, and we were only in time to 
procure tickets and secure our places, when we were clatter- 
ing noisily toward New York. 

Morecombe, through his gipsy eyes, watched my every 
movement with the vigilance of a lynx; neither approached 
nor addressed me during the two hours we were tossed to- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


231 


gether. We stopped at station after station, and . More- 
combe was always peering watchfully about, but did not 
move. At last the guard shouted Greely’s Mills.” 

Morecombe rose. We were ten miles from the city, at 
the very spot where Mrs. Beaumont had lived; where Cecil 
had tried to destroy himself, where young Rosecraft was 
buried. Was this Isolina’s retreat? 

I followed my companion out; he led me away from the 
crowd on the platform, to the wide dusty place, near the 
mills, where I could speak to no one without being seen. 
Then he went and got his horse and carriage out of the van; 
reharnessed the animal and drove up to where I was stand- 
ing. 

“ Get in/' he said, holding the step. 

I silently mounted, and we proceeded as before. I knew 
nothing of the locality; I was only conscious of ever increas- 
ing wildness of scenery, and that we seemed to be cutting 
across the country. Soon all signs of civilization were left 
behind us; woods and rocks succeeded to cultivated fields 
and homesteads; the sun rose high in the heavens, and the 
busy air which was alive with the buzzing of insects be- 
came close and stifling, and brooded thick under the move- 
less branches. 

All at once my nostrils hailed the welcome odor of wood 
smoke. I looked eagerly over the wastes of fir forest for the 
chimney of a house. I saw a light vapor rising blue at a 
distance; we soon reached the clearing and I beheld three 
small conical huts formed of bark. 

We were in a gipsy camp. 

“ Madam is white as a swamp-lily, said Ralph More- 
combe, looking at me; “ we shall stop here. ... 

I allowed myself to be assisted to the ground; I was faint 
with hunger and heat, but I would willingly have traveled 
twenty miles farther rather than stop here. 

A crowd of tawny-faced children surrounded us; some 
men and women, with long, black hair, and flashing eyes, 
rushed out from the tents, and reconnoitered us. More- 
combe coolly beckoned to one, and ordered him to unharness 
the horse, and give him oats and water. 

« Come here,” he shouted to the group of women, this 
lady is vour guest. Where is the queen? 

A tall young woman came forward; she had aquiline 
features, melting black eyes, olive skin, and a dazzling 


232 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


smile; a curious scarlet cloth cap was on her head; her 
hair hung straight and jetty down to the hem of her short 
blue cloth skirt, which was fancifully decorated with the 
wings of thousands of small rare birds; her feet were 
brown and bare and exquisitely delicate, yet sinewy, her 
bosom was covered by a scarlet jacket, covered with blue 
embroidery; strings of silver coins were on her neck and 
arms. This gay personage took me by the hand and pulled 
me out of the hustling, whispering children. 

“ Welcome to Adynma's camp,” she said, with great dig- 
nity. 

I turned a look of agony on my escort. 

“ Is this the end of my journey?” I gasped; “have you 
given me to a gang of gipsies?” 

“ No,” said Morecombe, with an involuntary softening; 
“you were tired, and I stopped to give you rest. We have 
yet farther to go. By the blessed Saint Magdalen, that is 
true.” 

I suffered the woman to lead me into the largest camp of 
the three. There I was waved gracefully to a seat; then, 
as the queen retired, a beautiful child, clad in green silk, 
danced lightly towa.id me, and fanned me with a broad 
swamp leaf. 

Presently the woman returned with a bowl in her hand 
which steamed with some savory stew which revived my 
sense of hunger most keenly. 

Sinking on one knee before me, she offered me a heavy 
silver spoon, and murmured with her dazzling smile: 

“ Eat from Adynma’s hand.” 

I gratefully accepted the invitation, and began to eat some 
curious mixture of different kinds of flesh, garlic almonds, 
and pistachio nuts, highly flavored and not unpleasant. 
Had my appetite been less keen, I should probably have 
turned from it in dismay. 

“ What place is this?” I asked, when my appetite was 
somewhat appeased. 

“ I do not know, lady,” answered Adynma. 

“ Do you not live here?” 

“ Oh, no, lady. We are strangers; we have crossed the 
great river. We are wandering.” 

“The great river? Niagara? You have come from 
Canada?” 

“ Gentle lady, yes.” 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


233 


“ How far are we from New York?” 

The woman showed her glittering teeth. 

“ I am a child. I have yet to learn.” 

It was useless to attempt extracting any information from 
the gipsy queen. I began to ask her about things she was 
more conversant with. 

« Sweet lady, your brow bears a message which I cannot 
read,” said Adynma; “let me read your destiny.’ 

She took my hand in hers, but I fell asleep under the 
royal <mze. I must have slept an hour. 

When I awoke, the woman was murmuring in my ear: 

“ Lady— lady, the messenger awaits you. ’ 

I opened my eyes and raised myself; through the open 
door of the tent I could see Morecombe harnessing his 
horse, the time had come to resume our journey. 

•‘Drink,” said the gipsy, presenting me with a richly chased 
silver goblet of wine; “the Circassian blood is faint with- 
out the blood of the grape; noon’s sun is heavy when the 

‘"IfkhXwtow’l quaffed the wine, and rose from my 
crimson couch. 

‘Lady, your destiny weeps, said the woman, mourn- 

i 4 4-. -rr \ oAnl is frrmmpfl? fl, 


fully. “ I have been readin 
shadow sits under your star; 


it; my soul is troubled; a 
lady — you will lose a friend!” 


"‘Comej "madam, ’’ said Morecombe, appearing at the 

d °I followed the gipsy out; my heart was chilled— vague awe 
and half belief followed her words. “I would lose a friend. 
Perhaps my sister. Heaven forbid! 

Scores of children ran round me with outstretched 
hands, and shouted the only English word they seemed to 
know, 

“ Money! money! money! , 

“ Away !” cried Adynma, with a royal gesture of command; 
“the guest of your queen is sacred.” 

Nevertheless, I turned and gave them a few coins 
I expressed my gratitude to my kind hostess foi hei gen- 
erous treatment, and seated myself in the ca ™g e - 

I was so deeply immersed in my speculations that I no 
longer watched the scenes through which we passed. I was 
aroused by Morecombe. 

“We are almost there.’ ... 

“What! at last?” I was thoughtfully recalled now. 


234 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ We have gone four miles since we left the gipsy camp. 
One mile more/’ 

At last Morecombe stopped unexpectedly and alighted to 
drag aside a fir-tree which appeared to have been uprooted, 
but which in reality covered the entrance of a narrow patli 
which meandered through the dense foliage. After replac- 
ing the tree, he led the horse up cautiously for some ten 
minutes, and finally stopped before what appeared to be a 
dismantled cottage. 

There was an air of dissolution over the whole place. 

The gipsy-camp was light and beauty and joy compared 
to this. 

Morecombe silently lifted me to the ground, and turned 
away. At the same moment the cottage door opened with 
an agonized creak. 

A figure stood trembling on the door-sill, a figure that 
could come no farther, though its eager arms were out- 
stretched, and its lovely, passionate face was bathed with 
the tears of joyful welcome. 

“ Come, come, come!” cried my darling. “ I cannot move 
for gratitude. Oh, friend, faithful and true!” 

And I bounded into my sister’s arms. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

THE TIES OF BLOOD. 

“ God’s mercy, maiden! Does it curd thy blood 
To say I am thy mother! What’s the matter, 

That the distempered messenger of wet, 

The many-colored iris, rounds thine eye? 

Why? That you are my daughter.” 

All’s Well that Ends Well. 

I strained her to my heart; at first I could not speak. My 
arms wound themselves round her as if they would never 
loosen. 

“ What can tear us apart now?” I thought. 

“Calm yourself,” murmured my sister. “ Be brave, my 
darling, and make the most of this merciful opportunity.” 

“Only tell me what to do?” I whispered. “I will be 
brave and patient, but I will never leave this place without 
you.” 

“Alas!” 


BEAUTIFUL lUENZI. 


235 


Her beautiful face grew pale and despairing. She took 
my hand and suddenly led me in. 

We were in a low, darkened room, in which at first I 
could distinguish nothing. Gradually the different objects 
grew beneath my gaze. Two windows were covered with 
a heavy curtain, which effectually shut out the light. A 
thick heavy Persian carpet was spread on the surging and 
decayed floor; along, black couch extended at one end of 
the narrow chamber. There was no other furniture. 

The figure, substance, or shadow — I scarce at first could 
tell, was gliding back and forward along the white wall, 
with a step as soundless as the cloud which sweeps 
between the sun and the furrowing grain. The hands are 
interwoven, and the pensile fingers clasp each other like 
slender silver serpents; the face no more is shrouded, no 
more is false, it hides beneath no cunning disguise. The 
eyes flash in the dark, and show their splendor, and their 
dread prophecy of ruin; the face is small and deadly, with 
pride unconquerable in the dominant brow and quivering 
nostril. Oh, a beautiful face, all marred by the sparks of 
hell! The fair, round throat swells and heaves like the 
gorge of a serpent, with the dumb fury that seems to 
possess the heart. 

She passes to and fro with quick and desperate energy, 
heedless of those who look upon her. 

“This,” said my sister, turning her calm, angelic face to 

me << this is the secret cord that draws me from you. This 

is my mother— my true mother; and she is sick, and in- 
sane, and in danger for past crimes; and a daughter s duty 
is to fly to her and guard her.” 

“ Ah, me! what dreary deceit is this 

“ It is a dreary truth, my own Ivamlla. For this I have 
sent for you. that you might understand the might ot the 
duty that God has given me. I feared that I must go 
away with what I longed to say unspoken; but, when 1 
came here, I found her in this state, from past excitement. 
I dared to run all risks, and induce her servant to go and 
fetch vou I might have written, but I have been weak; 1 
could not live without a farewell; and vou, my darling, I 
knew YOU would rather come than read the outpourings of 
a heart of sorrow by the cold medium of paper. And tha 
which I have to say— ah! how could I whisper it without 
your hand clasped in mine?” 


236 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


I listened in passive and icy silence; I could not take 
in her words. That woman — that murderess her mother? 
Who, then, was I? Who, then, was Victor Joselyn? 

Great Heaven! did she say her mother? 

The maniac brought her walk to a sudden close by 
crouching on the floor and beginning to wail and wring her 
hands. 

“Lost! lost! lost!” she murmured, hiding her face. “ Oh, 
lost, and alone, and unrevenged!” 

“Hush!” said Isolina, flying to her side, and bending 
over, “ not alone, mother — your child is here. Take com- 
fort, mother; I am here — I will not leave you!” 

The woman rose, and laid herself upon the couch, and 
dragged my sister, by the hands to sit beside her. 

“Keep me, then,” she muttered, “and don’t lose me; 
and avenge me on Guiseppe — cruel, false, Guiseppe Rienzi!” 

“ Hush!” breathed my sister again; “ I am going to sing. 
Listen.” 

Was there ever a stranger sight than this? My sister 
lulling by tender love our murderess to sleep? 

Silence came, but I marked it not. The low breathing 
of the sleeping woman deepened, and at last my sister’s light 
hand clasped mine. 

“ Come now,” she whispered, “ and I will tell you all, 
while she sleeps. Poor darling, you are very patient with 
me.” 

She sat at the foot of the couch; I knelt on the mildewed 
carpet at her feet, with my back to the woman whom yet I 
fiercely loathed ; my eyes wistfully raised to the woman who 
was about to disclaim the tie of blood between us.” 

“ My life was perfectly happy, and smooth, and natural, 
until last summer. I regarded myself as other girls regard 
themselves who have beloved parents and a happy home. I 
knew of no hidden destiny or plot. I felt myself what I 
seemed to be; the love of kindred knit me to those whom I 
believed my kindred. There was never an emotion of my 
heart which I hid from them until I went with Mrs. Crans- 
town last summer to Saratoga. There I sinned for the first 
time against my filial duty.” 

She paused; a slow flush rose to her pallid face; the tears 
in silent agony stole down her cheeks. 

“ I know all,” I whispered, bending my face to her lap; 
“do not tear your heart by this retrospection. Victor is at 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


237 


Silverlea; he has told me; he waits there for his beloved 
bride.” 

“Ah, me! say no more,” she exclaimed, wildly, “he has 
no bride— no love. Yes, yes— I do love him- 1 ever will, 
in spite of all, though I may never meet him on earth.” 

“ Be calm, dearest, be calm, God is merciful.” 

“Sweet girl, you comfort me. All is not ruin while 
there is a God. Yes, I will be calm. Let us not speak of 
Victor Joselyn; it is torture that I cannot endure. When 
you know all, your heart will bleed for me. 

“ When I returned from Saratoga, my heart tinged every 
thought with joy, and I looked forward to every succeed- 
ing week, almost, for my husband to come and claim me. 
I had no thought that the secret marriage would not be 
known for more than a month or two. Alicia Joselyn was 
thought to be recovering, and I expected Victor by each 


steamer. 

“ But you came home, and the secret w'as still unrevealed. 
How often I longed to confide to you the hidden sweetness 
of my life; but for the sake of my husband I resolved to 
guard the secret, lest it might be misunderstood. 

“ Do you remember the first day you ever saw Cecil Beau- 
mont? That day brought the burden of my life. 

“I told you before that he had made my acquaint- 
ance at Saratoga; he had paid me attentions since then 
which I, as the wife of Victor Joselyn, could not receive; 1 
had already dismissed him, and reminded him of Ins be- 
trothed whom he was wronging. He was furiously lealous 
of Mr. Joselyn, until I had told him what I had told Miss 
Cranstown once, that Mr. Joselyn was already married; 1 
feared the consequences of his mad jealousy. I thought he 
had returned to Miss Meredith, until the evening m which 
he once more presented himself in the drawing room. 

“ When you retired I asked him gently to explain his 

F “ G ‘ You deceived me/ he burst out; ‘ you informed me that 
the English lover was married. I have made inquiries, and 
find you have deceived me!’ # 

“I was both affrighted and indignant. • 

“ £ How dare you question my word. I asked. I again 
repeat that Victor Joselyn is married. Be that as it may, 
he is not to be mentioned again. As for you, I demand by 


238 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


what right you again return to me. I cannot, and will not 
love you/ 

“ He cast himself at my feet with such passionate sorrow 
that I was forced to weep. I tried to soothe him, but he 
was firm. 

“ At last he rose and expressed himself satisfied, and left 
me. The next morning some letters came to us both; 
among them was a note for me which overwhelmed me with 
consternation. It ran thus: 

“ ‘ Isolina Rienzi will not refuse to meet at Hotel, this evening, 

at five o’clock, a lady, who holds her past history in her hands, and to 
Bave her from further grief, would warn her of a danger which threat- 
ens her.’ 

“ This could only refer to my secret marriage with Victor 
Joselyn; what lady was this who seemed to know of it so 
well? And she had some danger that she would warn me 
of. I was terribly alarmed. 

“You remember the wild storm that day? At the hour 
appointed I stole out, hoping to escape detection, thor- 
oughly frightened at the consequences of my imprudent 
secret, and determined to confide to my father and seek his 
protection as soon as I returned, if danger indeed threatened 
my husband. 

“ It was a furious night, but Iliad not far to go; there 
was a cab drawn up on the other side of the street, and 
when I had fought my way against the storm for some rods, 
it followed me and stopped. The driver asked me if I was 

Miss Rienzi, and if I was going to the Hotel. When I 

said yes, he said he had been sent for me, and opened the 
cab door. I entered, and was driven rapidly to the place. 
I was instantly conducted into a private room, when a lady, 
whom I had never seen before, rose at my entrance, and 
flung her arms round me. 

“ ‘ I have got you at last/ she cried, exultantly; ‘do you 
know that you are my child? Did you ever hear of Gemma 
Lancinetto? I am she, and I am going to claim you from 
the wretched Guiseppe Rienzi! His child is in her grave 
long ago!’ 

“ I dropped upon a couch when she released me, sick 
with terror and amazement. 

“ ‘Lady, I do not understand/ I cried. ‘Who are you? 
did you not ser^d for me, on some business connected with 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


239 


my history?’ Then she eagerly poured into my ears a tale 
which slowly froze me into despair. Oh, Iva, what anguish 
that was for the bride of Victor Joselyn and the happy child 
of the Rienzis! She had been a young lady of high birth 
in Florence, and was betrothed to my father. I blame him 
not to you, his real daughter; but he was false, cruel, heart- 
less to the one who trusted him. He left her to her remorse. 
She fled from her friends, and in mad recklessness went on 
the stage. Her genius and beauty captivated an English 
gentleman of fortune, who married her. This was Victor 
Joselyn’s sire. She lived in England fiye years with her 
husband, during which time she gave birth to three chil- 
dren. _ . 

“ She was intensely wretched; the quiet English life did 
not suit her ardent temperament; her husband did not un- 
derstand her. She had never risen above the injury she 
had received from Guiseppe Rienzi; she brooded on revenge, 
and only lived to execute it. She became unsettled; she 
must find her enemy, or she would die. 

“ On flying from her friends in Florence, she had lost 
sight of him; now she determined to find him out if he 
still lived. She began to travel about in her husband’s ab- 
sence, with this one idea; she visited Florence in vain; no 
one could tell where Guiseppe Rienzi had gone; she visited 
Padua, Rome, Naples, but without success. At last some 
one who had been traveling through the United States 
mentioned a famous architect that he had met in Washing- 
ton. This was Guiseppe Rienzi. She watched her oppor- 
tunity and went alone to Washington, firmly intending to 
revenge herself now. She soon found her victim; he was 
just married to a beautiful American lady, and she saw them 
come out of their handsome house, and proceed to enter the 
carriage which was to bear them away on their wedding 
tour. This sight maddened the wretched conspirator; she 
dragged the bridegroom back from the carriage door, and 
aimed at him a frantic blow on the breast with a poisoned 
dagger. It quivered to pieces, leaving the hilt in her hand, 
and her intended victim seized her hands, and looked 


fixedly at her. i 1 

“ * Is this Gemma Lancmetto? cried the cruel man who 
had wrecked her happiness; ‘do I seethe beauteous Gemma 
in this guise? What if I were to deliver you to that con- 
stable that I see watching us?’ 


240 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“Defeated and despairing, she writhed from his grasp. 

** * I will give you cause to remember Gemma to the day 
of your death!' she exclaimed in her native language, and 


fled. 


“ He made no attempt to pursue her; probably he did 
not care to confront her with his pale and innocent bride. 

“As she hurried wildly through the streets, she suddenly 
encountered her husband, who was on his way home from a 
tour; he asked her no questions; his lymphatic temperament 
being disturbed by no pangs of jealousy, and she returned 
home with him, broken in spirit, and doubly humiliated by 
her failure. 

“ She lived at Joselyn Wold a year, and bore the third 
child; when it was three weeks old, an irresistible tempta- 
tion seized her to forsake her wretched home and appease 
her craving for revenge by another attempt on her enemy. 

“ In an evil hour she fled with the hapless infant, and ar- 
rived in Washington for the second time. Guiseppe Rienzi 
was a father by this time; daily a beautiful child was car- 
ried in the arms of the nurse from out of the stately man- 
sion; poor Gemma's heart turned with jealous hatred. She 
determined on a strange, half-insane revenge; the infants 
were about the same age; she would steal the child of 
Guiseppe Rienzi and put her own in its place. He should 
cherish a viper, which at the last, would sting him to the 
core; the infants were not dissimilar; their complexion and 
eyes were the same; they were both girls. The parents were 
absent on a journey. She succeeded in her purpose; 
she stole in at midnight, drugged the nurse, stole the 
daughter of the Rienzis and put her own in its place. She 
crept back to the liiding-ph 11 1 ne! she 



says the child she brought 


But, 


alas! I fear the hand that sped the poisoned dagger, sped 
the infant life on its dark journey! 

“ Iva, you know now who Isolina is!” 

Once more she paused; the wild tale died to silence; but 
it danced in my brain with feet of fire. 

“An infamous fantasy! I will not believe it!” I mut- 
tered, huskily. “Unnatural — foul attempt to tear you 
from us!” 

“ Do not struggle with the agonizing truth,” said Isolina, 
bending with unutterable love over me; “ I have struggled 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


241 


long, but I had to take it to me at last. See how the 
struggle told on me. Ah, it was bitter !” 

“ It cannot be true!” I cried, with sudden exultation. 
“ You have our mother’s eyes — you are her child!” 

“ Alicia Joselyn had blue eyes and golden hair,” replied 
Isolina, mournfully. . “ Victor has described her to me; 
and his father and mine,” she added in a strong voice, as if 
forcing her mind to grasp the truth, “ had blue eyes and 
fair complexion.” 

“But your expression — your smile is the mother’s very 
own.” 

“ By sympathy and unconscious imitation. I have lived 
a life-time as a Rienzi, you know. Alas! there is no room 
for doubt. She showed me the ‘ Bloody Spear’ of the 
Lancinettos on her signet-ring. She says the same crest is in 
my flesh behind my right ear. You see it?” 

I lifted the lustrous band of hair, and looked. I saw it. 

“ She described most minutely the mode by which I had 
been substituted for the true child; I could not but believe 
her. After this she instantly fled from Washington for fear 
of detection, and soon found herself in North Carolina, as 
the principal singer of an opera troupe. She engaged the 
attention of a Virginia planter, Ringwood Beaumont, who, 
unaware that she was already a wife, proposed to her. Alas! 
she married him. 

“She says that she was happy — that the craving for re- 
venge had been satisfied — that her high position, as the 
mistress of a thousand slaves, suited her. Mr. Beaumont 
was gay, unscrupulous, and pi’oud of her beauty. She be- 
came the queen of fashion. Cecil was the only offspring, 
and she centered all her affections upon him. Sometimes 
she delighted herself by planning how she would reclaim the 
child which the Rienzis believed their own, and thus stab 
them through the heart; but she was too well satisfied with 
her lot as yet to disturb it by such revenge. 

“ Twenty years passed away, and the war devastated the 
vast plantation, killed Colonel Beaumont, and rendered her 
homeless. She and her son fled with others to the swamps, 
and strove to form a guerrilla party, but were speedily cap- 
tured, and taken North to a Washington prison. After a 
time they were liberated, and Cecil quietly settled himself 
as an author, and lived with his mother in lodgings. 

“ He was in a profound melancholy when he returned to 


242 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


Washington, but he did not confide anything to his mother. 
She meantime having searched vainly through Washing- 
ton for her ancient foes, and failed to find them, began 
to fear that she should never be able to reclaim her child. 
Then it was that Cecil, becoming more and more unhappy, 
at last besought his mother to accompany him on some 
pretext to New York, as he did not wish to leave her alone. 
He was determined to try his chance with me again, and, 
perhaps, having flattered himself with false hopes, he at 
length told his mother that a lady had been the cause of his 
melancholy, but he hoped to win her. He came to me, and 
you know the result; when he returned to his mother he was 
in such a state of mad grief that he raved of his sorrow. 
What was her horror, her consternation, at hearing that the 
lady was the eldest daughter of Guiseppe Rienzi, the archi- 
tect! 

“ The mother was stunned; a grim fate seemed to have 
brought about the most awful results of her early unscrupu- 
lousness. Here was Cecil, the only human being who bore 
her love, almost insane over the rejection of her own daugh- 
ter. She could not bear to tell him the facts of the case. 
She resolved to summon the daughter whom she had for- 
saken so long, to tell her of the story of her true parentage, 
that she might avoid these two men, Victor Joselyn and 
Cecil Beaumont, who were bound to her by the ties of blood. 
Alas! she had little mercy when she made me the wretched 
repository of her secret. 

“ In my anguish I betrayed the real state of the case be- 
tween Victor Joselyn and myself. I told her that she was 
too late; that he was my husband, wedded to me in all 
sacred ness. 

“ With a frantic effort at calmness, I besought her to spare 
Victor the knowledge that she had given to me, and I swore 
to devote my life to her, if she would hide her existence 
from him. 

“ ‘ That is good!’ she replied. * When illness overtakes 
me, as it often does, I should like my daughter to attend 
me. I accept your terms; but I must ask another promise 
from you; bury the events of this night in your bosom; re- 
turn to the house of the Rienzis, and feign still to be their 
daughter until I send for you. I am not ready for you yet/ 
“ Stunned and bewildered, I promised all she demanded. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


243 


f And when I summon you, you promise to come, whatever 
the difficulties?’ she asked. 

“ I agreed to almost everything, and she expressed high 
satisfaction with the interview. I saw that she trusted me; 
that I would be prudent and docile. 

“She embraced me at parting with warmth. I returned 
home in a cab. Heaven alone can tell the inward despair 
of my soul; but I was able to keep calm, aud guard my se- 
cret even from you. 

“ Next day I made a packet of all Victor Joselyn’s letters 
and burned his photograph, and everything which reminded 
me of him, except a painting which he had made of the 
happiest moment of our lives, and the white rose which I 
had worn in my bosom on my wedding-day. 

“ Then I wrote to Victor demanding a divorce, and re- 
turned his letters. I hoped that he would not insist on a 
reason, but consider me inconstant or fickle; and my one 
prayer to Heaven was that we should never meet face to 
face. 

“ The day that should reveal me to him as his sister would 
have stretched me helpless at his feet. Oh! Iam still wild 
enough, mad enough to pray that Victor Joselyn may never 
know that Isolina is his sister. Let him revile me, despise 
me — cease to love me, and throw my memory to the winds; 
but, oh! this last hopeless, infamous blow may he be spared!” 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE CROSS. 

“ For my heart was hot and restless, 

And my life was full of care. 

And the burden that was laid upon me 
Seemed greater than I could bear.” — Longfellow. 

The door was opened gently, and Ralph Morecombe came 
in ; he wore a look of apprehension, and a sealed packet was 
in his hand. 

“Madam,” he said, bowing low to Isolina, “the shadows 
are long on the grass; already the sun is low, and there are 
long miles between the Black Forest and my habitation.” 

“ Do you mean that my sister, that Miss Rienzi, is to 
leave this to-night?” exclaimed Isolina. “Did you not 


BEAUTIFUL RlENZL 


244 

promise me that she should stay until to-morrow? Remem- 
ber the fatigue she has suffered. She is hungry, exhausted.” 

“ Madam is in danger,” he said, glancing significantly at 
the figure sleeping on the couch. 

“ What is the packet — who brought it?” 

“ It is for Mrs. Beaumont; a gipsy brought it. Miss Iso- 
lina Joselyn, I must insist! Miss Rienzi, the carriage will 
be ready in half an hour.” 

He pushed the packet under his mistress’ pillow, and 
stood imploringly waiting some reply. 

“ She shall go in half an hour,” said my sister, in a tone 
of agony. 

He bowed, and instantly retired. 

“I will not leave you!” I exclaimed, wildly, throwing my 
arms round her; “I shall stay until the danger comes; that 
danger is my father and Dr. Pemberton. I know well.” 

“ What madness,” muttered the poor girl, trembling; 
“my word is pledged to this woman; I must fly from them; 
I must, I must!” 

“And can you send your poor Ivanilla away so coldly?” 

“Alas! my heart will break! Sweet child — sweet, sweet 
friend, do not tempt me; comfort me; sustain my weak, 
bleeding spirit, or it will sink beneath its burdens. Pity this 
torture between love and duty, and end it for me!” 

“ True — you are no longer ours; you have chosen your 
mother; your choice is at least a contrast to the mother you 
forsake.” 

“Cruel, cruel! I lose the last boon — your love.” 

“ Never!” I exclaimed, with passionate remorse; “go to 
your duty, saintly, noble Isolina. May I be worthy to 
love so pure a being, and may our Heaven of mercy support 
you. I will not torture 30U with my selfish affection; 1 will 
go away.” 

“I have yet more to tell,” she murmured, restraining the 
outpouring emotions of her heart, and regaining her calm 
and sad exterior. “ I should like you to know the whole 
of this dreary history, that you may comfort in part, that 
beloved mother, whom also, I am obliged to forsake; I 
should like you all to understand fully the motives of this 
last step.” 

“ Dear sister, I am listening.” 

“And you do truly love the unhappy sister of your sym- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


245 


pathv? Thanks, sweet, generous girl; I could not lose your 
affection. ” 

“ After that first interview with my mother, she held no 
communication with me whatever, though, for what purpose 
I could not divine, she had hired lodgings at Greely’s Mills, 
ten miles from the city, and lived there with her son. Each 
day I expected to be summoned from my beloved ones; I 
was like the prisoner condemned to death, who thinks each 
step on the flags is that of the messenger who comes to lead 
him to the scaffold; the frightful pressure of anxiety, terror 
and helpless grief was more than I could bear; no wonder I 
plunged madly into distracting employments. You remem- 
ber the 29th of November? Ah! well may your cheek 
blanch, fateful, wretched day! 

“Miss Meredith and you were in your room, I alone in 
mine, when a boy was brought up stairs to me with a note. 
He stood by while I read it. Victor Joselyn and Dr. Pem- 
berton had arrived in New York, and demanded an inter- 
view. The firmament seemed falling to crush me; rather 
than meet them I would die. I sent back the boy with an 
answer, reiterating my desire for a separation, and abso- 
lutely refusing an interview. The afternoon was spent in 
a prostration of grief. 

“ At last my heart betrayed me; I resolved to tell the 
whole of the fearful tale to my friend Dr. Pemberton, and 
entreat him to interpose between me and the man who 
thought he was my husband. I felt that I was not able to 
fight my battle alone. I wrote the letter and sealed it with 
many prayers and blistering tears. You know what became 
of the letter I intrusted to you; Cecil Beaumont, still hop- 
ing still ignorant of the impassable tie of blood, snatched it 
from you and it was consumed. Then I went down to him, 
full of desperate courage, though the mother’s promise 
bound me hand and foot. 

tt <You say you have a secret power over me, which 
will make me glad to accept you,’ I said. ‘ What is that 
•power?’ 

« ‘I have learned, by hints which my mother has let fall, 
that she knows more about your position in this house than 
the world knows,’ he answered, significantly. 

<< indeed! And has Mrs. Beaumont not explained what 
she refers to?’ I returned, quietly. T wish she had, and 


246 BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 

saved me the humiliation of listening to your unwelcome 
protestations/ . , , , . . 

“ ‘She has explained nothing!' he cried; ‘she would hide 
all from me, but I am too madly in love to let slip any stone 
by which I may build up my cause. If indeed you are a 
nameless child, wearing the honors of a true daughter, a 
whisper would drag you down from your high estate. That 
whisper shall never pass my lips if you put your hand i-n 
mine and say, “I am thine." 

“ ‘Alas, Cecil, you have heard enough to blast your happi- 
ness,’ I sighed; “it is not I who am nameless — but I will say 
nothing. Take me to your mother’s to-night, and you 
shall hear the other half, of this story. I can keep silence 
no longer!’ I muttered, clasping my hands and almost tear- 
ing them. 

“The poor, hapless boy’s sanguine nature instantly rose 
at this; he thought he saw signs of yielding. 

“ ‘You will come to Greely’s Mills to-night?’’ he said. 

“ ‘Yes — to-niglit,’ I returned, firmly. 

“ ‘And this family?’ 

“ ‘I may never return to them. Hush! it is not to you 
I would fly; I am done forever with love. Now, be wise, 
Cecil, and return to the lady who holds your troth; believe 
me, there is no hope of me.’ 

“At first he would not listen, but after some time his 
elation was such that he declared he would do anything to 
please me to-night, with the proviso that he should please 
himself after he heard the story which I declared to be so 
fatal to his hopes. 

“ ‘If, after I hear the story, I still ask you to be mine, 
will you consent?’ he cried. 

“ ‘ I will consent.’ 

“‘Then my Beautiful is won!’ he said, with a brilliant 
laugh. ‘ Send me the little fiancee — I will overwhelm her 
with kindness — I will convey her to the concert, and be 
the most devoted of slaves — anything you say is my la\> 
to-night.’ 

“When I was able to present my wretched face to my 
family, I left him playing jauntily at the piano, and joined 
you. 

“ What happened at the concert I can scarcely tell. I 
was condemned to watch the terrible elation of a lover who 
was under a fatal misconception. I knew nothing of any 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


247 


other face there until, while I was singing, I saw like a 
phantom before me the countenance of my husband, white, 
angry, accusing— and I fainted. 

“ I recovered to find myself in Cecil’s arms, far away on 
a moonlit road, in a sleigh, which was dashing onward. 

“ My strength was all gone; I could no longer bear his 
embraces and words of burning love and triumph, with for- 
titude, and yet I had no strength to repel him. 

<< I W ept in silence and misery, until he, jealous madman, 
began to rail at Victor Joselyn, and accuse me of still loving 
him. 

« Then the infatuated boy recounted an interview which 
he had with Victor Joselyn, in which he boasted of my 
inconstancy; how he found that Victor had come to New 
York, I do not know. He told me what struck the last 
blow to my endurance. 

“ I poured forth, with the insulted, indignant impru- 
dence of a woman, the whole of the bitter story. 

“ The last word was reached. We were crossing a bridge. 
He stood up and grasped my hand. Until then, blinding 
tears had hidden his face from me. It was disturbed, and 
chiseled into a convulsed stare of horror. 

“ ‘ That ends all, then!’ he muttered; ‘ good-by.' 

« Instantly he sprang from the sleigh to the frail bridge 
rail, for a moment he waved his arms wildly, and then 
leaped down, with a frantic laugh, into the shallow, rocky 
stream. 

“ Almost at the same instant, as if earth was convulsed 
with the horror which I felt, a dull, tremulous explosion 
filled the air, and the crashing of rocks smote a thousand 
echoes' the horse, affrighted and unrestrained, leaped 
madly on and I sank shrieking to the bottom of the sleigh. 
I was whirled impetuously on, until the horse fell down ex- 
hausted, and covered with foam, and I was dashed with 
great violence out on the ground, the sleigh overturning, 
and scarcely bruising me. 

“ At first I was stunned, but soon rallied and rose. I 
could not tell where I was, the road was not in sight, and 
the wild, snow-covered heath stretched round me. 

it Bv the full light of the moon, I ran feebly back on the 
track which the sleigh had cut, to find the bridge I wan- 
dered on and on, staggering blindly, and shouting for help. 


248 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


until my own voice sounded vague like the voice in a dream. 

I think I lay down and slept. 

“I awoke to find myself in a bed; my mother’s terribk 
face bending over me. My head was bandaged; I was so 
weak that I could scarcely speak. The daylight wa§ stream- 
ing in. 

“ ‘ The bridge!' I moaned. “ Did you find him at the 
bridge?” 

“‘Hush!’ she said. * You are mad. You have killed 
your brother, and you are insane. I must send you to an 
asylum!’ 

“My will was quite passive. I believed that I must be 
insane; to be shut up and treated like an irrational being 
was an idea which rather pleased me; I was dead to life 
now. 

“ Before the evening of that day I was an innate of Doctor 
Oaks’ private asylum, and calmly awaited the develop- 
ment of the madness which I felt stealing over me. All 
these weeks of imprisonment I was almost as imbecile as 
any of my companions; my intellect was dwarfed and 
petrified. Memory was mercifully erased from my catalogue 
of torments.” 

“ But when I suddenly saw the face of my sister, gazingat 
me through the bars, so full of love — so full of sorrow, 
my heart awoke with a fearful bound. The old, blessed 
life rushed back to me in a blinding flash of recollection; 
joy sent the phantom of madness thrilling from my brain: 
I rushed to embrace my long-lost Ivanilla. 

“ These first days with you were very strange and 
sweet; my mind was yet weak, and I could not grasp at the 
sorrows of my lot. Your love was enough to engage my 
attention. 

“ But little by little I awoke from my long trance; I 
realized that I should never have returned to Guiseppe 
Rienzi’s roof again; that I did dishonor to my mother 
and insult to my sweet foster-mother, by remaining; that, 
possibly, I might bring danger on your heads by returning, 
to you. 

“You remember the trial? I dared throw no light upon 
it; I almost hoped that I would be condemned, that the 
curse of my life might end. What was my astonishment 
to hear that Cecil Beaumont was not dead! that my mother 
had deceived me. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


249 


“You remember we vent to Silverlea; and that you 
ceased to wish any explanation from me? 

“Ah, how thankful I was to rest awhile in peace! each day 
added was a boon that I thanked Heaven humbly for; I only 
prayed that God would let me stay a month with you, but 
He left me nearly three. 

“ Then the day long dreaded came. My mother found 
me out and came to claim her promise. 

“ ‘ You promised to come and do a daughter’s duty when 
I came to you/ she said; ‘now is the time; bid the Rienzis 
farewell for life and join your fortunes to mine. I claim 
my own child.’ 

“‘Give me a week — three days!’ I cried, frantically. 
“ Do not tear me away at a moment’s warning.’ 

‘“You love them!’ she exclaimed, fiercely; ‘you despise 
your poor, ill-fated mother, whose life is hunted for by 
these Rienzis. Then I will go to Victor Joselyn, and 
claim my place in Joselyn Wold; he will not turn his 
mother adrift.’ 

“ ‘ Spare him,’ I gasped; ‘ let me take his place. I will go 
where you please, only do not go to him.’ 

‘“You will come to-day, then?’ she replied; ‘they have 
put detectives on my track, and they are going to accuse me 
of attempting to poison Ivanilla Rienzi — an infamous lie, 
my child; and my life will be sworn away to the very death 
if they can find me. A malady is approaching me; I have 
had it twice; once when my perjured lover forsook me — 
twice when the dead body of Rienzi’s child lay in my arms. 

I have heard that when this malady visits one the third 
time it becomes incurable. It is coming! In twenty-four 
hours I wall be hopelessly mad! Look at my eyes — my 
throat; touch my temples and my pulse. See if it is 
not so?’ 

“ She dashed off her blue spectacles. I saw with horror 
the wild glare of incipient madness in her eyes, and in the 
quick throbbing of her throat and temples. Infinite com- 
passion filled my heart. I could scarcely forbear weeping. 

“ ‘Mother, fs it hereditary?’ I asked; ‘I also was mad, 
you know.’ 

“ ‘Yes,’ she whispered; ‘a Lancinetto has been shut up 
for the last three centuries; there is always a Lancinetto 
shut up.’ 

“ ‘ If this overtakes you, tell me what to do/ 


250 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ She then described exactly where we were to fly, and 
what duties I was to perform. These details took a long 
time. 

“ «I have one question to ask,’ I said, when she was 
finished. * Why did you make me believe that my half- 
brother, Cecil, was dead?’ 

“ She laughed a short, exultant laugh. 

“ ‘ Yes, recall it!' exclaimed the unhappy woman. Oh, 
it was sweet, and good to see. How it wrung Guiseppe’s 
heart. How it whitened his hair. How it broke his 
stately presence. Oh, it was good.’ 

“ ‘ Come away, and let us never see him more/ I mur- 
mured, terrified at her vehemence and weeping with 
horror. 

“ f No, I would like to see Mrs. Rienzi, and her daughter 
first/ she answered, with an instant return of her quiet, 
natural manner. ‘I have a small debt to pay them.’ 

“ She spoke so mildly that I was deceived, and gladty con- 
sented to stay, that I might behold you for the last time, 
though I dared not bid you an open farewell. 

“ She told me exactly the moment in which I was to slip 
from the room and steal down to wait on the road for her. 

“ When she would say, ‘ I have spent a very pleasant fore- 
noon with Miss Rienzi/ I was to rise and go out. 

“ We were to fly immediately to this place, which, being 
in the very heart of the forest, she said would defy detec- 
tion. 

“ After waiting until the first vigilance of the pursuit 
should be over we were to leave the country. 

“ She was still in the midst of her plans when you arrived. 
I was suddenly made aware of some concealed motive 
for all these plans of immediate flight, when I saw my 
mother rapidly slip a ring on her finger, just as you entered. 
My foster-mother only bowed at the door, and did not shake 
hands; you, coming in after her, put your hand in the ex- 
tended hand of the pretended Mrs. Ringwood; it darted 
through me like a knife that the ring was poisoned when I 
marked the prolonged pressure. How relieved I was to find 
no mark on your hand, my poor darling. Your glove saved 
you. 

“ Every movement of my mother inspired me with terror. 
I resolved not to leave her with you, for I saw she was 
already unsafe. When she said the words which were the 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


251 


signal for me to go, I dared to disobey, but her vengeful 
looks almost petrified me. At last, by intense watchfulness, 
I saw her shake some white powders into two of the glasses 
of wine, and she dared to designate with a threatening ex- 
pression which glass I was to take. 

“ It was too much; even the dreadful spell which bound 
me silent broke when you lifted the poisoned glass to your 
lips. I dashed it to atoms, and saved you. 

“ When I recovered from my long swoon I found Dr. 
Pemberton with me; he soothed and quieted me, and said 
he would soon see me all right and happy, and joined to 
Victor again. 

I can tell you little more. 

“ Weak and outraged at heart, and hopeless, i took tne 
cars to Greely’s Mills, and hired a horse and carriage to take 
me as far as a gipsy camp, when I paid the boy and got the 
gipsy chief to take me on his best horse to this miserable 

^ 6 “Here I found my poor mother in the first paroxysms of 
the disease, with no attendant blither faithful servant More- 
combe, whose proper name is Rinaldo Moresco, a servitor of 
the Lancinetto family all his life, and devotedly attached to 


E 


“Now, my darling, I have told you all plainly and caie- 
fully what power moves me from all I love to an.exile terri- 
ble as death; much I dared to see you once more and tell 
-ou what would set your gnawing hopes at rest. I he time 

ias come that we must part. . , , n 

“You weep, my sister— ah, hush, my sister! Comfoit 
yourself. Never weep that your power was overruled by 
Heaven. . . , . 

“ And now, receive my last charges. T 

“I give this withered rose into your hands for Victoi Jo b e- 
lvn- tell him it is the marriage rose that nestled in the bosom 
of a wife who was never a wife, and whose right to his name 

has wrecked her happiness. . , , . , 

“ I will be humble, and sue even for a brother s tender- 
ness, since nature has denied me more; in heaven our love 
will be pure enough even for this restless and weak h( ja rt - 
“ Give the last of my love to your sweet mother; she was 
too pure to retain the offspring of Gemma Lancmetto. Ask 
her to meet poor Isolina up yonder, where the blessed ne\er 
weep and where the broken heart may ache no more. 


252 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


‘‘Tell him whom I have revered and loved as sire that I 
forgive him for the wrong he did my mother, and seek to 
be forgiven for the anguish his child has brought him. 

“To you, beloved, faithful one, I leave a heart with love 
which only flows unchecked to you. And because I prize 
you dearly, deathlessly, oh, my little one, comfort Victor 
Joselyn if you can. I shall not live long; thank Heaven, the 
earthly struggle will end at last, and I will be in bliss, watch- 
ing for you first. 

“ And remember — remember, Ivanilla, to you I say it, I 
will be at the pearly gates watching, praying for your en- 
trance. All of you — oh, tell them, all of them!” 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


TOO LATE. 


“But, no, that look ia not the last; 

We yet may meet where seraphs dwell. 


Where love no more deplores the past. 

Nor breathes that withering word — farewell!” 


Longfellow. 


“ The half-hour is past, madam,” said Morecombe, open' 
in he door. 



sister turned as pale as death; unconsciously her 


hands clasped round me and held me fast. 

“ I cannot — will not leave you,” I whispered, desperately. 
“Let him drag us apart, if he dares.” 

“Farewell, Ivanilla,” she cried, lifting her countenance 
now with a smile of seraphic purity. “ I will meet you in 
heaven.” 

The small carriage was standing close to the door, with a 
fresh horse in harness; the sun was, indeed, low behind 
the trees, and rough were the miles that stretched between 
home and me. 

In stupefied silence I took my seat, and dared but one 
backward glance at my beloved, standing on the threshold 
of the mildewed, crumbling dwelling. Her gentle lips tried 
to quiver into a smile of comfort, but they failed; and the 
holy eyes were raised to heaven, as if they would carry my 
hopes up there. 

“ I will leave you at the gipsy camp,” said Morecombe, 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


253 


grimly; “and you can rest there all night in Adynma's 
tent, or let her husband drive you through to Greely’s 
Mills; it's fifteen miles from the camp.” 

We had not gone two miles when a shout greeted our ears, 
and a large carriage, drawn by a pair of blooded horses, 
came between us and the blinding sun. Morecombe drew 
up stock-still. 

A man, without a hat, sprang out of the carriage, and 
ran to meet us; another vaulted from the box, and was 
beside us. 

“Now Heaven be praised!” I cried with joy, and gazed 
in wonder and hope unspeakable on my father and Cecil 
Beaumont. 

“ What is Ivanilla doing here?” gasped my father. 

“ I have been with Isolina. Oh, father, save her!” 

“ Where is your mistress?” demanded Cecil Beaumont. 

Morecombe sat upright, looking straight before him — 
silent, immovable as a Sphinx. 

“ Fellow, I shall not speak again.” 

Ralph's hand secretly jerked the reins; like lightning 
the horse rose on his haunches and beat the air with his 
fore-hoofs, then came down with a sidelong spring to the 
ground; round came the carriage on one wheel, and 
away we dashed, the infuriated animal galloping wick- 
edly and champing his sawed mouth. Down in the 
dust I had left my father's gray head, with helpless, out- 
spread arms. 

“ Stop, stop!” I screamed, frantically. 

On we sped past the trees, which seemed to dance past 
us lonely and still; the branches hung above us and shut in 
the hollow beat of the horse’s hoofs. 

“ Now I will stop,” said Ralph, turning his dark, merci- 
less face to me, “and if you show these people where my 
mistress is, I will shoot you in cold blood. Do you hear?” 

He caught me round the waist, and whirled me out on 
the bank, and the wheels rolled over my outspread dress, 
and the carriage vanished like a dream. 

I got up and looked vaguely about; in truth terror had 
bewildered me; my limbs trembled— my head swam dizzily; 
I fell against the hoary trees, and I ran unsteadily back by 
the darksome way I had left my father. 

Twenty minutes must have passed, and I heard the heavy 
rumble of the carriage approaching. They stopped when 


254 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


they came upon the pale little figure standing in the road, 
without a hat; and again Cecil vaulted off the box. 

“ My friend, have you escaped from that rascal?” he 
ejaculated, seizing my hand; “can you show us the way to 
the house?” 

“ My father!” was all I could say. 

The carriage door opened, and Dr. Pemberton put out 
his hand. 

“ He’s here, and safe. In, Tvanilla, and let us drive on.” 

I was dragged in, and the carriage moved off with a rapid 
motion. 

My father was sitting on the back seat with his head 
against the cushion, looking very pale. 

“ Oh, papa!” I murmured, throwing my arm around 
him; “are you hurt, papa? oh, papa, tell me!” 

“No; a little stunned, that is all. Sit here, Iva. "Where 
were you ?” 

“ Isolina sent for me this morning to come to her; she is 
in a cottage along here, with — with that person, and that 
person is insane; they are going somewhere out of the 
country, unless you are in time to force them to stay. 
Isolina has been made to believe she is her daughter.” 

“ Cecil Beaumont has told us the story,” broke in Dr. 
Pemberton; “she will have to prove that before we give the 
girl up.” 

They talked eagerly for some minutes, while I watched 
intently from the window; I was looking anxiously for some 
landmark to remind me how near we were to the fallen tree. 

To my confusion, the place looked quite strange; I did 
not think I could ever have seen these crooked beeches be- 
fore. I made them stop the carriage, and got out. 

“We must find a fallen tree; which has been flung on 
the entrance of the lane which leads to the cottage,” I said; 
“ I fear we must have passed it. 

Beaumont and the driver walked on, scanning carefully 
the tracks and woodpaths. Dr. Pemberton and I walked 
back. 

I was right; we had passed it some two hundred rods; 
ten minutes was spent in finding it. 

We shouted for the others, and dragged the branches 
away, they had been so cunningly placed that the foliage 
presented no contrast to the rest of the thickly matted under- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


255 


The carriage came up, and we took our places; the path 
was so narrow that the driver had to lead the horses by the 
heads; sometimes the wheels could with difficulty jam past 
the close-advancing trees. But we came at last to the hovel, 
and poured out of the carriage, silent and eager. 

But I stood silently without, gazing at one object which 
told me all that need be told. 

I knew that that sweet face would shine no more out of 
the lifeless silence; that avc had been too late, and God had 
seen fit to snatch our girl from us after all. 

My sister's black silk scarf was trailed across the threshold 
to where the deep wheel-marks had cut circles in the marshy 
sward. The cottage was empty. 

“ Iva, child, no one is there," said my father, coming out 
to me, and laying his hand heavily on my shoulder; “they're 
gone!” . 

And then he reeled, and was caught in the arms of his 
early friend, Doctor Pemberton. 

“ Look for what tracks you can,” said the doctor, laying 
his patient on the grass, and anxiously bending^ over him; 
“ never mind me, but see about pursuing them. " 

Young Beaumont was coming out of the cottage last; his 
lips curved into a line of bitter agony; his eyes all light 
and luminous fire, fixed eagerly on the ground. 

“There!" he said, pointing, “they have taken that di- 
rection, and have fled over the mountains. 

There was a faint track of Avheels cutting the heath at 
the back of the house, and following it a few paces, a horse s 
foot-print became discernible, though the ground got more 
flinty and the trees gradually opened; a few paces more, and 
Cecil Beaumont stooped and picked up a lady s glove, and 


strode back to us. , T -n 

“Lend me a horse!” he said, passionately, “and I will 
overtake them; they have taken a mountain track, which if 
they can pass alive, doubtless leads into some road not 
f&r off * 9 

'^Almost before he had done speaking, the driver was di- 
vesting one of the horses of its harness, . and fastening a 
saddle, which he dragged from the carriage box, upon its 
back! In unutterable excitement, the young man bounded 
into his seat, and sprang off, to be speedily lost sight of, 

among the trees. . , , , . . , 

I was trembling mutely, Avith my father s head m my lap. 


256 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


while Doctor Pemberton strove to restore animation. How 
pale he was! how old and feeble-looking! alas! my father! 

“Guiseppe! nonsense, man, look up! all’s not lost yet — 
they’ve only a few minutes start; fie, man!” 

With a faint groan, my father raised himself, and looked 
up. The amber clouds were drifting overhead; the faint, 
milk-white stars of September were peeping down wanly in 
the sunset glare. How serenely nature ever smiles when 
the heart is bleeding most! 

“ Poor I vanilla!” he murmured, meeting my wistful eyes; 
/‘lost her mate! poor little birdling.” 

The doctor peremptorily insisted on my father entering 
the dismal cottage, and resting on the miserable couch 
where last I had seen our enemy reclining. 

The curtains were torn down from the windows to admit 
the straggling rays of light, and some refreshments were 
brought in from the carriage, which Doctor Pemberton saw 
that we partook of; indeed, I was too weak and exhausted 
not to obey him gladly. 

And here we resolved to wait until the driver could be 
dispatched to the nearest inn, which was at least ten miles 
oil, for another horse. 

While my thoughts were absorbed, the doctor called upon 
me to explain all that had occurred since his departure from 
Silverlea. Amid intense attention, I told them all. 

“And so you know now, that poor Isolina had been mar- 
ried to luckless young Joselyn for more than a year! I had 
hoped, when I posted on here from the old country, to be 
able to ferret out the cursed spell that kept them apart; 
alas! we found what it was too late, Guiseppe!” 

“Too late!” groaned my father. 

“ And do you believe that our Isolina is not ours?” I 
gasped, looking from one to the other. 

“ 1 believe it,” answered my father, covering his face with 
his hands. 

“ And I believe it!” echoed the doctor; “ she is strikingly 
like what Alicia Joselyn, her elder sister, was; the likeness 
is there.” 

“Papa,” I murmured, “why do you believe it? Have 
you ” 

“Was I what, my child?” 

' “ Have you any reason to think that there could have 

been an exchange?” I said. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


257 


“ Yes; a strange phenomenon is explained, which puzzled 
your mother and me all our lives, since Isolina was an in- 
fant. Oh, if we could have arrested the guilty wretch who 
has claimed her, I should have wrenohed the truth from 
her!” 

“Beaumont will overtake them yet/ don’t despair/’ said 
the doctor, trying to speak hopefully. 

Then he began to tell me what had first induced him to 
interest himself in our cause. 

“ I received, three months ago, an anonymous letter in 
England, which stated that a lady named Isolina Joselyn 
had been injured by my misrepresentations, and if I would 
fulfill my promise of assisting her when in trouble, I would 
at once* proceed to New York, where he, the writer, 
pledged himself to meet me, and put the facts of the case in 
my hands. 

“Upon my arrival at New York. I found a letter at the 
post-office for me, directing me to Wrexville, a small village 
in Maryland. 

“ Implicity following my directions, I traveled South, 
and at the only inn of tlm place in question found myself 
expected. 

“ In two hours a young man entered my presence, in 
whom I recognized with consternation Cecil Beaumont who 
had carried off Mrs. Joselyn, and declared himself to be 
Victor’s brother. He soon disarmed me, however, when 
he informed me of Isolina’s true fate. He had been taking 
her that fatal night to the house of his mother, in the hope 
of inducing her to marry him there, when she informed 
him that she was his half-sister, and already the wife of 
Victor Joselvn. 

“ He allowed her to explain all the circumstances, then, 
fired by sudden despair, he attempted to put an end to him- 
self by leaping over a bridge. He was only stunned, how- 
ever, and much broken, and when he recovered he was in 
his mother’s house. For six long weeks he lay at the brink 
of death with brain fever, and when he recovered he was 
lying at Silverlea, attended by his mother. When he re- 
gained his senses, she told him that Isolina was in a mad- 
house, incurably insane, and that the Rienzis had given up 
when they found she was not their daugher. 

“It was well on in spring before he was able to rise from 
his bed. As soon as he was convalescent he left his mother. 


258 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


determined to join the army, and lose his life as his father 
had done. 

“ He passed through New York on his way South, and 
beheld Ivanilla Rienzi on the wharf of a European steamer. 
As he was unaware of the rumor which was circulated of his 
death, he merely gazed at her sadly, not daring to speak, 
after the misery his family had been to her. 

“ The same night he set off secretly to the seat of war, 
and obtained command of a regiment. A few days afterward 
he was astounded, on reading the New York papers, to see 
an account of the approaching trial of Miss Rienzi, with 
ample details of the story. He instantly wrote a note to 
the presiding judge, vindicating the young lady, and offering 
to appear, if such a course was necessary. But she was ac- 
quitted without such measures being required. 

“ Putting his narrative and my own experience of the 
character of Gemma Lancinetto together, I determined to 
acquaint myself with her past history and plots. Before 
long I found that it was the family of my own old friend, 
Guiseppe, who was being victimized, and I came to Rane- 
lagh just in time to save Mrs. Rienzi’s life from the machi- 
nations of the fair enemy who was presuming to claim poor 
Isolina as her daughter. 

“ Mad, is she? Then Heaven has sent upon her the just 
vengeance which He withheld from our too eager hands. 
But that poor girl ! Oh, why were we half an hour too 
late?” 

****** 

At midnight Cecil Beaumont galloped in, waking me up 
from a fitful slumber, my head on my father’s pillow. The 
rider strode in to the dreary cottage, and one glance at his 
cold, haggard face, told that he had failed. 

“ They have escaped,” he said, with almost the tone of a 
fatalist; “it was not for this wretched hand to bring resti- 
tution; the debt must stand, and Isolina must be the victim. 
Alas! why was I born to curse those whom I loved too well? 
Ivanilla, I have lost yon your sister.” 

“You, Cecil? Oh, do not blame yourself,” I sobbed, 
pressing his hand kindly. But the desperate look still 
lurked in his eyes, his thin, hollow cheek, and brow of 
passionate disappointment haunted me for years after- 
ward. 

Our journey home through the night passed like a dis- 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


259 


tempered dream ; my brain was thick — the wheels of thought 
so clogged that I seemed to lack the strength to wield such 
unwieldy machinery; fatigue, past excitement, and pre- 
monitory symptoms of disease were weighing heavily on 
me, and everything was vague and dim around me. But 
still I was sensible of one interruption to our homeward 
course, which often occurred to me afterward with vivid 
distinctness. 

As we passed the camp of the gipsies I saw lights moving 
hither and thither through the trees, while shrill cries re- 
sounded eerily from near and far. 

“ What is the matter? Are they calling us?” exclaimed 
Pemberton. 

The carriage stopped, and he thrust his head out of the 
window. 

“What’s the commotion about?” he asked of a young gipsy 
who ran up to the side of the coach. 

“ Baree, Baree!” came shrilly to my ears from the heights 
beyond. 

“ Did you meet an old woman in a scarlet cloak and 
black silk kerchief on her head?” asked the young man, 
eagerly. 

“A gipsy? No!” cried the driver from the box; “not 
one.” 


“ Baree is lost, then,” said the fellow, moving away. 
And' again came the piercing cries from sear and rocky cliff: 

‘ ‘ Baree ! Baree ! Baree !” 

We drove on after this interruption, and reached Silverlea 
at six o’clock in the morning. 

There was woe to the hopeful mother and anxious young 
husband. Ah, what a cup of anguish was that to place to 
their craving lips. 

And yet, in my dull, half-stunned condition, I could 
only watch sadly, and wipe my mother’s woeful tears 
with mute pity. Words were of no avail, and I did not try 
them. 

And to the stricken husband what comfort dared I whis- 
per? Gone, gone, gone were his flowery hopes. Oh, bury 
them deep — stifle them for evermore. 

Yet it was he who first took Cecil Beaumont’s hand, and 
looked into his burning eyes with the glance of heavenly 
sympathy. 

« Bear it bravely, Brother Cecil,” he murmured, softly. 


260 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZI. 


“Let us do our duty to God and man, and trust to meet our 
hapless sister in heaven.” 

And then his hand leaned kindly on Cecily shoulder, and 
the brothers clung together heart and heart at last. 

“I have wasted your life and hers/’ moaned the younger; 
“and restitution has been denied to my unworthy hands. 
Oh, Victor Joselyn, can you look on wretched Cecil so 
kindly?” 

“ The wrong is forgotten, Cecil, and forgiven.” 

“ I will never find rest this side of the grave. Remorse 
shall hannt me night and day. I shall throw my life on my 
country’s battle-field, and die in the midst of duty.” 

And, plead as we might, Cecil Beaumont went away, and 
the hollow, burning eyes, and the spirit which had broken 
beneath the heat of wild youth’s fire vexed us no more in 
our desolate moaning. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

THE HAND WHICH LIFTED THE CURTAIN. 

“ Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in its glowing 
hands ; 

Every moment, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands.” 

Tennyson. 

Link by link the chain of Time is woven, and it comes at 
last that the fever dream is spoken of as a thing of the past, 
and ended forever. 

Victor Joselyn lives in his desolate [ Joselyn Wold, not 
aimless and desperate now, they say, though the great sor- 
row of his life has left its everlasting mark; he toils among 
the down-trodden poor of his country, to win for them a 
more human life from their oppressors. 

Cecil Beaumont has won a name among his father’s 
countrymen for courage and intrepid zeal, which resounds 
from every lip; and the young general has made glory his 
bride, and fights with reckless bravery for his father’s 
cause, and to avenge his father’s deaths, 

The woman with her secret vendetta is heard of no more, 
and two years have passed since Isolina trod the golden 
sands by the opal waters of sweet Silverlea with me. 

But there came a day in the balmy month of September, 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


261 


that the postman knocked at a certain door, not quite within 
the city noise, but just upon the flowery outer rim, and in 
due course of time two letters were carried in to the mis- 
tress of the pretty establishment, whose name, as read on 
the backs of the letters, which she wonderingly scanned, 
was: “Mrs. Ernest Lindhurst.” 

“What can they be/’ I ejaculated, glancing across at a 
gentleman, who was busied in the leading article of the 
Times. “ Both in ladies’ handwriting, and one so strangely 
alike. Oh, Ernest!” 

The opened sheet fell from my hand, the quick blood 
fled to my heart, and surged there in a flood which al- 
most burst it. My husband sprang to my side, and put 
his arm round me, and I leaned against him with closed 
eyes. 

“Let me wait,” I murmured. “I dare not read it 
yet. You read it Ernest, and tell me.” 

He caught up the letter and perused it at arms length. I 
still leaned against him, but I become calmer; for I was pray- 
ing; I was saying, over and over again, in my soul: 

“Thou God in heaven, prepare me for this joy!” 

My husband finished the letter and clasped me close. 

“Look up, my darling,” he said, gently; “there is good 
news. You must take it bravely, dear, and don’t get ex- 
cited.” 

“Tell me — tell me! Isolina 

“ Isolina is free to come home. She is coming, dear ; she 
will soon be with us. Can you listen to what she says?” 

“Wait a while,” I whispered again. And I felt that I 
could not bear it until I wept once more to Heaven for 

Stl “Ever Merciful Father,” I prayed, “ crush me not with 
joy and gratitude! Put Thy hand on my eyes, that I may 
not be blinded with excess of happiness! 

“ Now, Ernest, I am calm.” 

“ My Beloved I vanilla — I am now alone in the world, 
and at liberty to come from my exile. Mv poor mother died 
yesterday, after a short illness of three weeks, which finally 
turned to disease of the heart, and carried her off almost in 


“ I have found a small packet addressed to your father; 
perhaps the contents may be some sort of confession. I 
know that the guilt on the unhappy soul of the corpse which 


262 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZi. 


lies so cold and forlornly calm before me now weighed it 
down into the hopeless melancholy which has oppressed us 
since we fled from America. She is gone now — oh, I weep 
when I dare to ask whither? A desire to reveal something 
tortured her during the last hours of her life, but she could 
not speak. Will this attempt at the eleventh hour to render 
perhaps restitution weigh against her mountain of crimes? 

“ My life has been sorely tried. I thank the Lord that I 
found comfort from heaven; and I tried to do my duty as a 
daughter. Shall I return to the only home I ever loved? 
Shall I be the bearer of the packet for Guiseppe Rienzi? 
Are the hearts of my dear ones still as warm and kind as 
when they had an Isolina? 

“And when I dare to think freely of you all my heart 
cries yes, a thousand times. I will fly to you from my lone- 
liness and sorrow; if my poor changed face can bring you 
sunshine, you shall have it; if Gemma Lancinetto’s child can 
be nothing to you — but I have no fears, no doubts of your 
generous love. It will be sweet to depend on those whom I 
love and trust boundlessly. I will fold my weary wings in • 
my childhood’s home, and never leave it more. Peace at 
last, after long pain. Heaven bless my little foster-sister, 
and her true-hearted Ernest. I have not lost sight of you, 
though cruelly hidden myself. 

“ Farewell until a speedy meeting. As soon as the re- 
mains of this poor mother is buried, look for Isolina.” 

We did not express our emotions in very eloquent lan- 
guage, my husband and I, but we knelt down side by side, 
and though our tongues were mute, our hearts were trans- 
latable to One who now had deigned to answer many tearful 
prayers. And after this the great wave of joy swept more 
gently over us. 

But it was hours after that w r e bethought ourselves of the 
second letter which had come for Mrs. Ernest Lindhurst, and 
which lay neglected among the tray of newspapers and peri- 
odicals. 

I opened it with reluctance, loth to abstract myself from the 
new-come joy; and when I surveyed the long, closely written 
sheets, and read the first sentence, I turned to the signature 
with incredulous surprise. 

“Lillia Meredith,” I ejaculated; “what can she have to 
say?” 

“ Read it and see,” was Ernest’s suggestion. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


263 


And this was the letter of Isolina's enemy: 

“ Mrs. Lindhurst: — I should not presume to address you 
if it were not with the hope of rendering tardy restitution. 
How hard I have been — what wrong I have done those whom 
you loved, no one has known but Heaven and myself. I do 
not write to plead forgiveness. When you read what I have 
got to say you will spurn me almost from your standard of 
womanhood — but if even at this late hour I can do you jus- 
tice, I will carry a less remorseful heart in my bosom. Read, 
then, and judge of my merciless cruelty. 

“It is more than two years since you lost your sister. I 
knew of your calamity, and had in my possession then facts 
which might have saved you all the anguish which 
has come upon you since, but in the wicked fury which I 
felt against Isolina Rienzi, I resolved to avenge myself by 
keeping silence. 

“When the trial was over I returned home to Washington, 
filled with rage and disappointment that it had not suc- 
ceeded. For some time I resolved in vain a scheme by 
which to punish Isolina for her unavoidable share in caus- 
ing Beaumont to desert me. 

“About a fortnight after my return an old woman in 
gipsy costume came to the door one day and craved to see 
me. I went at first to order her ofii the door step as she re- 
fused to go for the servants, but I soon found that she had 
something of importance to communicate, and only feigned 
to be a chiromancer. So I conveyed her to my private cham- 
ber and drank in eagerly all she had to say. 

“ She said that she knew something that Mr. Rienzi, 
whose daughter was acquitted of murder, ought to know, 
but she was afraid to go to him in case he might take her 
up for something she took away long ago. I was an ac- 
quaintance of the family; had been Miss Isolina's closest 
friend, she heard; would I write down what she was going 
to divulge and send it to Gluiseppe Rienzi? She had trav- 
eled a long way, forty miles and more, on her old tottering, 
feet, to tell me this for the love of justice, and to keep- 
harm from being done. Would I see that Mr. Rienzi wasn't, 
cheated out of his own? 

“ I soothed her fears and said I was ready to listen to all 
she could tell me, as indeed I was, but only from motives of 
the darkest vengeance — if I could get Isolina Rienzi in my 
power I was happy. This is the story as I dashed it down. 


264 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


“The woman before me had been a child’s nurse of re- 
spectable character apparently, and as such was employed 
by Mrs. Rienzi to attend her first child; the family were 
then living in this city, Washington, and it was twenty-two 
years from the time she was speaking. 

“ The woman, who was known by the name of Mrs. Car- 
tier had fallen into bad ways, she said, and her recom- 
mendations were from some people who only knew the best 
side of her character; in reality, she belonged to a gang of 
thieves, and had only entered the house of Mr. Rienzi in 
order to pilfer what she could. When the baby was a few 
weeks old, Mr. and Mrs. Rienzi were sent for in haste to 
see Mrs. Rienzi’s mother, who lived at some distance, and was 
dangerously ill. Consequently the child was left in the care 
of Mrs. Cartier and an old faithful housekeeper took charge 
the house. During the absence of her master and mistress, 
the nurse made her way into a cabinet and stole a large 
amount of gold plate and some costly jewels, which she 
carried off to the haunts of her gang, and the articles were 
instantly smelted in fear of recognition. This system of 
robbery went on with impunity for some time, until Mrs. 
Cartier received a sudden check. 

“ The baby was about a month old, and an uncommonly 
healthy, active, little creature, when one night, the 3rd 
of August, the nurse thought she would secure two or three 
silk dresses which were hanging in Mrs. Rienzi’s wardrobe, 
in a room, just adjoining the nursery, as she had found a 
key which fitted it. The servants were all in bed, and the 
baby was quiet in the crib, so Mrs. Cartier hoped to slip 
out with her bundle, and dispose of it without detection. As 
she was folding up the dresses in the wardrobe, a shadow 
came between her and a candle which she left on the nur- 
sery table, and peering through the crack of the half closed 
door, she saw, to her horror, a person in the room, bending 
over the child’s crib. This person was a very handsome 
young lady, with a long black cloak reaching from her head 
to her feet, its black hood framing in a very white face with 
large black eyes. This lady presently stood straight up, 
and the nurse saw that she carried something ’in her arms, 
under her cloak. She gazed fixedly at the wardrobe door, 
and suddenly made a step toward it. 

“ In an ungovernable fit of fear lest she should be caught 
in the midst of her theft, the nurse darted out by another 


BEAUTIFUL BIENZL 


265 


door into the corridor, and sped into her own room, which 
also opened into the hall and nursery. She had no doubt 
that the visitor was some relative of 'the family who had 
arrived late, and came straight to the nursery to see the 
baby; and in the hope that the garments half folded up on 
the wardrobe floor might escape the lady’s eyes, she flung 
herself upon her bed, determined to feign sleep should she 
be called. 

“ Scarcely had she placed her head upon the pillow than 
she became conscious of a very strong odor, which at once 
attacked her senses with benumbing effect. With great pres- 
ence of mind she tore the pillow from beneath her head and 
dropped it between her bed and the wall, with a thrilling 
realization of some foul play being attempted, and lay in- 
tently listening for sounds. In a few minutes the nursery 
door of her room was softly opened, and the lady came in 
with the shaded candle in her hand. The nurse’s back was 
to the front of the bed, and she simulated a heavy slumber, 
to which the lady listened for some time, then glided out 
with a scarcely perceptible laugh, muttering some strange 
foreign words. 

“As soon as she was gone, the nurse sprang up m af- 
fected fright, and ran into the nursery, hoping to confront 
her. But she was gone, and the baby was wailing in its 
crib in a very unusual manner* She knelt down to hush it, 
and found to her astonishment that the child which she 
had left a few minutes before perfectly healthy, was cold as 
ice, and so dwindled and small that she did not recognize 
her. At the same moment she heard the well-known scream 
of Baby Isolina away down in the lower hall, a scream which 
was not repeated. Instantly divining that the babe had 
been stolen and another had been put in its place, she 
snatched the wailing infant up, wrapped a shawl around 
her shonlders, and ran steadily down into the street, de- 
termined to recover her charge, lest she should be blamed for 
its abduction; and in the investigation which would be 
made, she knew sufficient would be brought up against 
her to condemn her to penal servitude. 

“Filled with this idea she ran rapidly after the lady, who 
was far down the street and as she ran, concocted a scheme 
for recovering the child without implicating herself if pos- 
sible. She hoped to overtake the lady, and threaten to 
summon a constable if she did not exchange the child- 


266 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


ren, but before long she began to be afraid of adopting so 
open a course, lest the lady might know of her past mis- 
deeds and assume a power over her in consequence. So she 
thought she would try what stratagem would do. 

“ They had plunged into an obscure, though perfectly 
quiet street, the nurse always keeping in the darkest 
shadows, and at last the lady stopped at the door of a small 
brick two-story house and rang a bell. A slatternly girl 
appeared with a candle and let her in. To Cartier’s delight 
she recognized a face which she had seen before. She man- 
aged to attract the girl’s attention, and beckoned to her. 
In a few minutes she reappeared at the door. 

“ ‘What do you want?’ she whispered, gruffly; ‘ I’m a re- 
spectable girl, earning a character, and don't want to see 
one of ye.’ 

“ ‘ You’re the girl that cleaned out young Walsingham of 
five hundred dollars,’ whispered Mrs. Cartier, * aren’t ye, 
now?’ 

“ ‘ What’s that to you? I’ve give it up now, and am aim- 
ing my character. Go away, Cartier, that’s a good un, and 
don’t spile my chance.’ 

“ ‘ You’re quite happy here, then, and have all ye want, 
same as if ye was a lady born, as that face o’ yours would 
make one think?’ asked the nurse, insidiously. 

“ ‘Quite happy?’ echoed the girl, bitterly; ‘yes, if slavin’ 
from gray morning till this hour of night, with a mis’able 
ten dollars a month and no soul to speak to, is happiness.’ 

“ ‘Is that all ye get?’ exclaimed the nurse. ‘ Come, now, 
I’m not here for nothing. Somebody has had an eye on ye, 
if ye are hid in this out-o’-the-way hole. Would ye like to 
hear how ye could airn not ten but fifty dollars a month — 
work jist mere play?’ 

“ ‘ To be sure I would.’ 

“ ‘Well, then, let me in somewheres easy, where your 
mistress won’t find me. Hush! don’t waken this baby!’ 

“ The girl eagerly led her up stairs to her own bedroom,' 
locked the door and lit a candle. 

“ Having gained admittance to the house, Cartier was 
clever enough to avail herself of her advantage. She first 
of all applied herself to raising the girl’s cupidity by prom- 
ising liberal ‘ pickings’ if she would return to the gang which 
she had left some time previously, in a faint attack of con- 
trition for her crimes. Having overcome all her scruples. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


267 


she then proposed that she should leave the house at once, 
carrying whatever she could find with her. After winning 
a complete ascendency over her, Cartier asked a few careless 
questions about the lady whom she had let in. 

“ Her name was Mrs. Joselyn; she had come from Eng- 
land and taken apartments in this house four days ago. She 
went out every day, and seemed sometimes to have an awful 
temper. All the boarders were afraid of her, and she spoke 
to none of them. She had a baby, pretty young and rather 
sickly, and it was her idea (the girl’s) that- Mrs. Joselyn, 
maybe, was on the hunt for her husband, who seemed to 
have deserted her. 

“ ‘ What do you think of this baby?* said the nurse, 
throwing off her shawl and displaying the face of the sleep- 
ing child. 

“ The girl stared in surprise, then looked behind its ear, 
and uttered an exclamation. 

“ ‘Sure as death, it’s Mrs. Joselyn’s baby! I know her 
by the bit of a cross behind the ear! Gracious! woman, how 
came you by her? You aren’t a witch, sure?’ 

“ ‘ Mrs. Joselyn made a mistake, and grabbed the wrong 
baby in a hurry/ said Cartier, significantly. ‘Now I’ll put 
. you in the way of getting your fortune made, if ye help me 
to get back the child I was appointed nurse for. I don’t 
want no fuss made about anything I’m concerned in, as you 
may easily suppose from the number of prisons I’ve cheated; 
so if we can get the exchange made privately and then be off 
— the better for you and me. How came that mark there? 
It’s not a cross, it’s a lance.’ 

“ ‘ Lance, cross, poker, or shovel, all’s one to me, so’s you 
put me in the way to make my fortune. She drew it with 
a sharp needle yesterday, and when the blood filled the 
scratch she rubbed black powder on it. I held the baby 
while she did it.’ 

“ ‘Lord, now!’ ejaculated the other woman, in a tone of 
awe. ‘ What do you think it was for?’ 

“ ‘JDunno. Maybe to keep the devil off. Wish she'd 
warn him of her temper, for it’s a “stunner,” I can tell ye. 
But look here, now, it’s not for nothing that there thing was 
scratched into the poor brat’s flesh. She said to me when 
the black powder was all rubbed on. “Now, my girl, look 
at it well — look at it to remember it. The ‘ Bloody Spear;’ 
imprint it on your heart; for I may die, and this child may 


268 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


fall into strange hands, and perhaps you of all on earth will 
be the only witness that this child is a Joselyn.” Mad thing! 
I half believe she’s queer ! But do tell, for gracious sake, 
how came you by the child? I saw her carry it in past my 
very eyes.' 

“ Mrs. Cartier gave some half explanation, all the time 
carefully perusing the mark on the child’s flesh. She re- 
solved to make a duplicate mark on her little charge, if she 
recovered it, in order to mislead the strange lady should she 
return to Mr. Rienzi’s house. She was strongly superstitious, 
and perhaps the belief that this mark imparted a peculiar 
virtue to the wearer helped to influence her impulse. 

“‘Has Mrs. Joselyn any plunder, worth?” she asked, 
cunningly. 

“ ‘ Lots o’ jewels, cash, dresses, rare ones,’ whispered the 
girl. 

“ ‘ Well, you look here now. I’ll take all the risk of this 
lark. You make up your bundle and be ready, or stay here 
another day, just to shift the blame off yourself, and leave 
all your things open for to be searched. And if ye show 
me Mrs. Joselyn’s rooms, I’ll slip in and take what I can 
find, and leave this here baby to its owner, and all you’ll 
have to do is just to keep watch and give me a safe passage 
out. Then give warning, and jine us to-morrow night. 
The old place, you know.’ 

“ ‘ All right, I’ll not be in this mess there, but mind, I 
must have my share of the plunder.’ 

“ ‘ Half, as sure as I’m an honest woman.’ 

“‘Surer than that ma’am, it must be.’ 

“‘Little Toad! Well, then, sure as you’re a born 
beauty.’ 

“ ‘Humph! I’m spoilt in the breeding then! Well, I’ll 
trust ye.’ 

“ The two women stole down to Mrs. Joselyn’s room, 
and the nurse made her way safely in. The heavy breath- 
ing of the lady showed that she was asleep, and the room 
was very dark. The nurse coolly struck a match, and dis- 
covered by its aid where the bed was. The infant which 
had been stolen, was lying just asleep in a cradle along- 
side, and holding the lighted match in its face its nurse made 
out beyond a doubt that it was Mrs. Rienzi’s child. 

“Hastily she lifted, without awakening it, and put the 
other child in its place, who began to wairpiteously. The 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


269 


sleeper only breathed the more heavily, and muttered a few 
words. Mrs. Cartier took courage and struck another 
match. By the light of this, she found an open box on the 
dressing-table containing black powder which she slipped 
in her pocket, then she secured the casket of jewels which 
was carelessly displayed on the table, and looked about for 
the cash which had been mentioned. 

“At this moment Baby Isolina began to struggle pre- 
paratory to giving one of her imperative screams, and the 
nurse darted out, and flying past her accomplice stifled the 
child’s cries until she reached the street. She ran every 
step of the way back to Mr. Rienzi’s house, and reached it 
perfectly undiscovered. She did not dare to lay the child 
down until she had scratched with a needle the identical 
spear she had seen in the other, and rubbed in the black 
powder, at which the child screamed so violently that the 
housekeeper came rushing in full of alarm. But Mrs. Car- 
tier allowed her to suspect nothing, and soon had the babe 
to sleep again. 

“Mrs. Cartier had received such a fright from this mid- 
night episode that she resolved to leave her situation, be- 
fore her employers came home, which she did a few days 
subsequently, only waiting for another woman to take her 
place. 

“ She carried the box of jewels to the chief of her gang, 
retaining, however, the largest diamond necklace, upon 
every gold medallion of which was engraved the arms of 
some house. The diamond and a medallion linked to it, 
were all that remained of the necklace, and the old 
woman gave them to me as proofs of the truth of hei 
story. The arms are those of the Joselyns. 

“Mrs. Cartier saw the girl two days after her adven- 
ture, and heard from her that Mrs. Joselyn’s child had 
been found dead in its cradle next morning— ‘ With a face 
as black as if it was in a convulsion-fit, and a blue ring 
round its neck!’ she declared, and Mrs. Joselyn was crazy- 
like and didn’t seem to grieve a bit, and hung over the 
little body for hours wondering how it was so like her 
baby and when Cartier ventured back to the boarding- 
house on some pretext, she heard that Mrs. Joselyn was 
stark mad. and they did not know what to do with her. 

“ The whole of this business caused Cartier considerable 
uneasiness lest she might be implicated and drawn into 


270 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZi. 


trouble. She left Washington as soon, as possible, and 
plunged into evil ways in New York. 

‘‘She sank very low, until her crimes had made her so 
well known to the authorities that she fled from the States, 
and joined a gipsy gang with whom she had lived for the 
last ten years, and gained some little tact in telling fortunes. 

“ During their wanderings in New York State she had 
become acquainted with some of the facts of Isolina Ri- 
euzi’s trial. Miss Rienzi was about to be torn from her 
friends under a false plea; she managed to obtain a sight 
of Mrs. Beaumont at Greely’s Mills, and instantly recog- 
nized her, despite the change in her appearance. 

“For the sake of the beautiful babe whom she had dan- 
dled in her arms, and nursed like a mother, she had taken 
a long and perilous journey to Washington to put the facts 
of that long committed transaction in my hands, who she 
said was a close friend, and would be glad to save Miss 
Rienzi from trouble. 

“ With earnest and repeated injunctions that I should at 
once lay this story before Mr. Rienzi, the old woman re- 
ceived a small piece of money from me and went away. 
And I — wicked — revengeful — could not bring myself to 
serve my poor friend so far, but waited seemingly to see 
what would happen. 

“Some three months afterward, the same old gipsy 
woman sought my presence again. She was double with 
rheumatism, foot-sore, famished, and distressed in mind. 

“ She said she had been traveling night and day for four 
weeks; that Miss Isolina Rienzi had been claimed by Mrs. 
Beaumont and was going to be taken away to Canada. She 
had got hold of the information from the chief gipsy of the 
camp, who was bribed by Ralph Morecotnbe to assist them 
to escape. She had seen the young Miss Rienzi going to 
bid her sister good-by, and she knew exactly liow Miss 
Ivanilla would be hoodwinked, and she had come here to 
implore me in the name of justice to do something to re- 
store the young lady to her family. Surely I had not 
obeyed her former injunctions — Heaven’s curses on me if I 
had not; the secret which for her own safety she had kept 
so long, was burning her heart up with remorse. 

“ I reassured her once more with fair promises, but 
what she had told me filled me with vengeful exultation. 
Isolina should be consigned to the companionship of such 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


271 


a woman as Mrs. Beaumont; yes, that should be her pun- 
ishment. 

“ The old woman went away, and was found in a field 
some miles out of town, dead by a brook-side, her blistered 
feet in the water, her old scarlet cloak drawn over her face, 
dead from hunger and exhaustion. 

“ I knew that I alone could right Isolina Rienzi, and 
yet I hardened my heart and did nothing. I have kept 
this secret, well-knowing the terrible wrong I was doing 
Victor Joselyn. I have kept it until it was criminal to keep 
it, until anguish had crept deep into your hapless family, 
and you mourned not only a sister lost, but a sister who 
was nothing to you. One word of mine would have served 
you long ago. I might have said ‘ Canada, when youi 
wild surmises pointed to every country beyond this hemis- 
phere, but I triumphed in the sorrow of those who had wit- 
nessed my humiliation. I gloried in having Cecil Beau- 
mont recklessly fighting off the sorrow which his mad pas- 
sion had brought him, and— I did nothing. 

‘‘This has been the revenge I swore to you on my # car- 
riage step, and it has been a bitter one; my head is in 
the dust with remorse; I can never, never face you, nor 
smile again, while conscience holds up this foul wrong 

before me. , . , , 

“ It is Miss Belle Cranstown who reached my strong 
heart and awakened my conscience; for months she has 
been a persevering, brave friend, drawing me nearer and 
nearer to repentance, in spite of my struggles. The link 
is broken at last. I have poured my guilty confessions at 
her feet; this is the course she encouraged me to take. 
She says to fear nothing, that you would forgive. I do 
not ask it or expect it. I am not worthy to utter one word 
in your presence. I have wronged you beyond forgiveness, 
and shall mourn it to the day of my death. Heaven keep 
,ou from all evil. Your repentant, 


272 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


CHAPTER XXXV. 

DONNA BELLA. 

“ She is coming, my own, my sweet; 

Were it ever so airy a tread. 

My heart would hear her and heat, 

Were it earth in an earthy bed.” — Tennyson. 

The September snn was dipping into the rosy waters of 
ocean; he* had left a throne of “ turquois and almondine,” 
upon which one tiny star was sitting, looking down to 
the lowly and lovely earth. 

A little family were gathered on the southern veranda, 
where the ardent light came round in shafts and refractions 
softer than aught out of heaven, and touched the dangling 
creepers with fringes of gold and nestled among a bed of 
hoar petronias, gilding all their velvet and diaphanous 
petals into rarest fairy-cups, and seeking out the dusky King 
of the Blacks as it swung incense from its tiny censer. 

My father sat in his bamboo chair and broad panama, 
with perhaps as bright a smile as that of other days, though 
softened now into a more beaming humility, as he passed 
one hand over the other in dreaming mood. 

My mother stood by his side, her fair and gentle hands 
clasped contentedly on his shoulder, her face so mild, so 
exceedingly sweet and pale, raised slightly to the painted 
vault of heaven — the dear mother who had loved more than 
us all, and borne most meekly. 

My husband — kind, steadfast, worthy of his name — 
paced before them, pouring some of the ever-present sun- 
shine of his own heart into theirs; and apart at the western 
side, where the moan of the ocean smote our ears, stood 
Victor Joselyn and I — the only sister this world held for 
him. 

The Atlantic cable had done its work — a message had 
flashed from our joyful hearts to that lonely Joselyn Wold, 
which caused the master to leave his throngs of grateful 
people and schemes of noble philanthropy to fly over 
thousands of watery miles to meet the long-mourned Rose 
of his faithful heart. 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


273 


We were all gathered into Silverlea, which was the parent 
nest every summer, and the sweetest nest ever brood came 
home to; we were all gathered in, waiting for the long lost 
one, to tie Love's knot, and make the rosy band complete. 

But day after day had passed; friends had poured in and 
gone away again; Victor had arrived, feverish and incredu- 
lous, to watch once more with spirit-sickening eagerness; 
hearts were sinking, low prayers were stealing up to heaven 
— yet she was not here. 

Three weeks since that day of joyful tidings — and she 
could have been here a fortnight ago — vague fears were 
whispering in every heart: why did she tarry? 

The eyes of love had stolen so often down these gravel 
walks, that they were dim and wavering, and hidden in a 
patient hand, the eyes of hope took up the watch, and were 
blinded and dazzled all at once. 

Yet it was only a simple garden-hat, bound with black 
ribbon, just such as had shone between these rows of fir- 
trees two years ago, one still summer morn. It came 
steadily on, now disappearing behind the aspen shades, now 
gleaming nearer, a speck of white in a mass of dark green 
— no, it has stopped — where has it gone? Not back? 

Poor soul ! she is tired; she leans upon our iron gate; she 
bends her face on her crossed arms. If she were not so 
poor-looking — so lagging and foot-sore, I would say — Ah ! 
heart of mine, leap not so tumultuously! Can it be — oh! 
can it be my sister ? 

One wild, glad cry! I am flying down to the dusty 
traveler. I cannot wait to speak my joy; I am going to 
clasp my darling close, close, close! I am going to drag 
her in from the flinty road, and bring her home, and lay 
her in the arms of him whose wife Heaven gave her to be. 
Oh, my heart, break not with joy! 

She lifted her pale, tearful face. Her celestial eyes fell 
upon me, bright, tender, brave as the dauntless Minerva's 
who leans upon a spear; a slow, sweet smile broke over her 
lips. 

“ Come in!” I exclaimed, pushing open the gate to get at 
her; “ don't stand out here.” 

“ Is this my welcome? my faithful sister,” she breathed 
softy. 

And that reminded me of another’s right. 

“ Come!” I cried, with hysterical vehemence, “ Victor is 


274 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


here, not your brother— that has been proved— not your 
brother, dear Isolina!” 

“What! and I have given him such sorrow! Does he 
care to meet me now?” 

White she grew as a Syrian lily. She drew back and hid 
her face in her trembling hands. 

For he was coming, her lord, her life, her fate. He was 
coming, and her heart was failing her, with overwhelming 
love. She would sink beneath this fierce delight; she would 
drink one glance from his shining eyes — one glance, and 
die! 

But he took her sweet hands kindly, gently; he spared 
her rushing agitation, and denied himself for her sake. He 
vailed these passionate heart-throbs behind a calm voice, and 
bent a gentle, reassuring gaze upon her. 

“ Do not fear me,” he murmured; “ I am your friend or 
your brother — until you wish to change the title.” 

“My husband!” she breathed, relinquishing herself to 
him, “since you love me still — yours till I die!” 

Reverently he took her to his breast; he did not even now 
overwhelm her with the passion which filled him; this frail, 
trembling form must be guarded kindly; it must be cher- 
ished for a while ere it could bear its burden of happiness. 

We led her up between us to to the vine-wreathed ve- 
randa, where her own true, dear parents were standing, 
hand in hand, rooted with joy, only able to cling' together 
and gaze, and gaze, and gaze upon their Isolina. 

Ah! life is like a lattice window in the sunlight; light and 
shade — light and shade; bars of gold and bars of gloom, 
until the frail lattice is shattered, and the light flows in 
with no more shadows. 

But hush these haunting whispers! What might not re- 
stored love do? What might not peace and rest do? 

Little by little we gained from her the story of her last 
two years of exile; she told it once and never reverted to it 
again; her gentle spirit held aloof forever after from the 
dark and painful memory of another’s crimes. She had 
found, in gathering together Mrs. Beaumont’s few effects, 
after her death, an open packet addressed to the deceased, 
which she had recognized as that which Ralph Morecombe 
had given to Mrs. Beaumont in the cottage in the forest. 
It was written by Barbara Cartier, the gipsy woman, and 
was a full account of Isolina Rienzi’s real parentage, and 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZL 


276 


an entreaty that the Italian lady would return Miss Rienzi 
to her friends, for if she did not Cartier would inform 
Guiseppe Rienzi herself of the attempted abduction which 
had taken place so long ago. 

The explanations were ended at last; she was fully en- 
throned in her rightful place, and could look from face to 
face of her kindred with thankful eyes; she had a claim 
upon us all — even upon Ernest, who waited upon her with 
such brotherly assiduity. But best gift of all, the priceless 
love of that true heaven-chastened heart, which was hers in 
holy purity and rightfulness! 

Ah! hold her in your arms— this \vasted, ethereal form; 
fling chains and chains of love around her, to bind her 
from the spirit-land; come between her and these amaran- 
thine wreaths, which wait her in the skies. You have loved 
her fondly; you have mourned her long; oh, keep her angel 
wings close pinioned — woo her back to earth! 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

THE STORY OF THE VOW. 

“But she, with sick and scornful looks, arose 
To her full height, her stately stature drawn. 

* My youth,’ she said, ‘ was blasted with a curse.’ ” 

Tennyson. 

My dear sister’s little history, when from time to time 
she had been torn from us, was a very mournful one. 
Ralph Morecombe had come, like a rushing wind, into 
the cottage, flung the few articles of clothing and valu- 
ables together, and carried the fugitives off without a mo- 
ment’s warning. They escaped through a road but little 
known across the hills to the nearest railway station, took 
cars for Philadelphia, and proceeded by uninterrupted travel 
to Canada, where they buried themselves in a remote French 
Canadian village, to which there was little possibility of 
tracing them. Mrs. Beaumont had seemed satisfied, and 
signified her intention of remaining with only her daughter 
and Morecombe to attend her. 

Morecombe was a trusty protector, laboring faithfully for 
their comfort, and becoming more and more attached to the 
hapless young lady whom he had helped to bring into such 
slavery. With daily increasing remorse he saw her bearing 


276 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


unrepiningly a burden that was far too crushing for her 
slender frame, and when she would have failed through 
weakness and discouragement, he studied her wants, and 
guarded her from many a needless vigil with the capricious 
and exacting lunatic. 

In a few months the very slender stock which Mrs. Beau- 
mont possessed was swallowed up, and in order to gratify 
the extravagant whims of her who was formerly a woman 
of luxury, Isolina opened a small school. The gentle fortitude 
of my nobler sister shone out. 

The pale and tender face grew daily sweeter; her very 
presence seemed to calm the troubled air; the American 
school-mistress came to be spoken of as a saint uncanonized, 
and the children all thought that the Madonna must be like 
Mile. Lucille, as she was called, who was so good to her 
poor, afflicted mother, and so sweet to everybody. 

And a day came when her cross was lifted at last. The 
wild, gloomy eyes had appealed to her for the last time, and 
the murmuring lips were still, and the word of confession 
which had tortured that trembling soul too late, was un- 
spoken forever, and the worn child was free. 

Ah! free to nestle home to hearts, which would close 
round her, and warm her chill life into fresh hopes — free to 
love unchecked, to taste the gifts wliick God intended for 
her. • She had expended the last of her scanty means in 
burying Mrs. Beaumont, and had but a few shillings to take 
her the long journey overland to New York. And now the 
old Italian, Moresco, signified that he would take her safely 
home to her friends; he would not have her without a pro- 
tector, if she would take him to be her servant, as her mother 
had done before her. 

But Ralph was claimed by another Master. On the day 
following the funeral Isolina found the nurse Cartier’s let- 
ter to Mrs. Beaumont carefully concealed in her dressing- 
case, which, in the first astonishment of reading, she brought 
to Ralph. He recognized it as the packet which a gipsy 
boy from the camp had brought while Isolina was relating 
the circumstances which separated her from her family. 
The boy had been sent by Baree with injunctions to de- 
liver it into Morecombe’s hands for Mrs. Beaumont. 

Such is the outline of Rienzi’s experiences. We never 
heard the full weight of that trial which had rested upon 
her from her own lips; another, after this meeting, when 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


277 


our dear girl was far away in her husband’s stately Wold, a 
good old priest, who was getting up a university for pious 
nuns, came all the way from the distant Canadian valley in 
which the French village nestled to relieve good Catholic 
purses of their superfluity, and from him we heard how 
truly heroic, patient, and self-suffering our Isolina had 
been to her reputed mother, whose terrible temper and dar- 
ing infidelity had struck awe through the villagers. 

And here is the strange letter which Isolina found, sealed 
and addressed to my father, and which began with the 
words: 


“MY VENDETTA.” 

“ You, Guiseppe Rienzi, first woke my heart to the bitter 
sensation of passion. I was beautiful and proud, of noble 
family, and an heiress. I might have Aved a marquis, but I 
loved you. What were you? Bah! A student— an artist, with 
his bread to win— a sculptor without a chisel— a visionary, 
with a respectable name (bah, again!), and a slender patri- 
mony when your elder brother, Andrea, should be served. 

“If I had put my foot upon your hands for stepping- 
stones across the mire, I should have honored you above 
your position; but I flung my wealth, and my beauty, and 
my heart at your feet, and prayed you to deign to wear the 
trifles in your bosom. Who could withstand Gemma Lan- 
cinetto? You were dazzled, and I thought you loved me. 
I loaded you with chains of passion-flowers, and thought 
you were my captive; but it was / who wore the chains of 
iron, and not the flowers. I was the prisoner. 

“You came to me one day; your eyes were flashing like 
the sun in his angry strength, and I trembled. 

“ ‘They say Guiseppe, the poor student, schemes for 
Donna Gemma's gold,’ you said, ‘and if you love me, as you 
say you do, you will grant me a favor.’ 

“ ‘And what is that?’ 

“ ‘Publicly give your wealth to endow some church, and 
come to me a penniless bride. If you love me, you will love 

m «k‘And what an inconsistency that would be!’ I jibed. 
«I, who scoff at their temples, to endow one! 1 only 
glory in my wealth, and in showering it upon you, to throw 

lfc “Thad unlocked the magic-box, and the gem rose up from 
its lurking-place which was to destroy me. 


278 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZl. 


“ ‘You scoff at their temples, signora. What does that 
mean?’ demanded my master. 

“I laughed scornfully, 

“ ‘It means that there is no God on my earth!’ I said. 
‘God? Who is he? An essence — a myth? You are my God! 

I bow to but one divinity!’ 

“You went away, and I laughed until my maid knelt at 
my feet, and implored me to be calm. I pictured how my 
passionate love would craze your young heart with joy when 
alone. 

“ The next day a letter from you was brought to my silken 
pillow. It was not a lover’s frenzied prayer for pardon for 
your harshness; it was a demand to know what creed I pro- 
fessed. 

“ My creed was the shortest on earth; I was an infidel. I 
had always been one. I believe I was born without a soul. 
Gayly I told you so, but added that my heart was more to 
you than a thousand souls. What calmness — what lack of 
worldly wisdom you displayed! You came to me loaded 
with the gifts I had lavished on you — the love-tokens, the 
honors — and flung them back to me. 

“ ‘Henceforth, Guiseppe is bound no more to a woman 
without a God,’ you said. 

“My passion rose. I demanded — threathened. You 
showed no fear, but sternly silenced me. I to be threatened 
thus! 

“ I rose humiliated, overcome, terrified, and begged for- 
giveness, and you left me with my tears undried. Gemma 
Lancinetto was forsaken by the obscure stripling whom she 
had proudly worn next her heart. I met the curled lip, 
the vailed eye, the cynical smile when I ventured forth from 
my angry solitude. Those who before had worshiped my 
shadow shrugged their shoulders and crossed themselves. 
I was branded as ‘the woman without a soul,’ and was fabled 
a Xantippe. All shunned me, but the lowest and most 
sordid of my once countless throng of lovers. I found at 
the age of twenty-one that my life was blasted. I stood, 
as it were, unvailed before a hissing world, and it execrated 
me. 

“ Then in my heart of hearts, I made my vendetta against 
Guiseppe Eienzi. Oh, it was bitter, deep, lasting! 

“ Shall I detail my reckless life to you? No! You shall 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


279 


know it if ever we meet at that Bar where you say God is — 
‘if ever.’ My life shall be an eternal secret until then. 

. “ Go to your grave with the pangs Gemma Lancinetto has 
given you, and say, haughty ingrate, have I not promised 
you life? If you had never seen Donna Gemma in her 
beauty, would your hair have been so gray, your step as lag- 
ging on life's thorny way? 

“ Yes, I have sped my vendetta — my sweet, sweet ven- 
geance! 

“ Guiseppe, these lines are for you, when your victorious 
enemy sleeps in her bed of earth. Gemma.” 

Such was the singular letter which came to my father 
from the dead woman, and it cleared him forever from all 
blame but such as gilded his character with new laurels, 
while it threw into the blackest shades the unholy pas- 
sions which had wagered a life-long war in that poor heart 
of dust. 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

A BRIDE WITH ANGEL’S WINGS. 

“ From belt to belt of crimson seas 
Our leagues of color streaming far 
To where in yonder orient star 
A hundred spirits whisper ‘Peace.’” — Tennyson. 

For the last time I open these pages, and inscribe the 
closing scenes of my beloved memories. 

I would not have that Secret Vendetta unsped, for a 
blessing was hidden in the hand of hate. 

Come and look with me once more on “ The Beautiful 
Rienzi ” — a last look, reader. 

She is a bride for the second time. This is the evening 
of her second wedding-day. You see the golden circlet 
gleaming on the silver-pale hand. It catches the eye of 
some one near — her husband. He takes her hand — ’twill 
never vanish from his heart until the cold hand of death 
clasps it. He holds it in his close, close clasp, and lifts it 
to his lips. 

“ You will stay with me a little while — my wife?” 

Her pure face flushed deeply. Her eyes dwelt on his 
wistfully. 


280 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


“ If God will spare me,” is the meek reply; “ and I think 
He will. I ought to comfort you before I go/’ 

Then we gather closer, and the summer sea booms in 
with a louder swell. 

There is Doctor Pemberton watching the bride’s face with 
the constancy of a lover, and making private notes of ap- 
proval or dissatisfaction. Until she need have no more 
watching, this faithful friend will guard her from every 
chilling wind with a tender solicitude only second to her 
husband. 

There sits our father, and the gentle companion of his 
life, calm, smiling, thoughtful, after their long struggle; 
clinging the more closely to the Great Hand, which helped 
them since the Secret Vendetta was sped; trusting their 
loved ones all to Heaven, and fearing not much for future 
sorrows. 

And here, with her bright face all sunny with the joy 
which others’ joy ever brought to her, kneels sweet Belle 
Cranstown at my feet — the cherished friend, adviser, and 
comforter of my Ernest and me. 

The musk-laden flowers flaunt in the shifting air; a 
thicket of yellow roses scatter their petals before the feet of 
the passers-by. 

Softly they walk — warily after life’s fevered battle. The 
Star of Hope is shining on them with a silver promise of 
days to come. They are looking into life’s cup of sweet- 
ness, and, lo! it is not drained yet. They look into each 
other’s saddened eyes, and find that love can have a resur- 
rection; and so she gazes upon the thin, grave face with a 
gush of womanly tenderness and regret. She cannot speak 
for that past shame and sorrow, but she draws his head to 
her swelling bosom, and weeps upon it. God bless Cecil 
and Lillia — they may be happy yet. 

And I am happy to sink into a cipher when my brother 
Victor is by. It is joy for me to see them joined at last. 
There will be paradise below when thus are united the 
noble and the good. 

Come away. The shadows leave them, and the moon 
gleams in. Let us, too, leave them in their heaven of re- 
stored love. 

****** 

She sleeps beneath the daisies of her English home. A 


BEAUTIFUL RIENZI. 


281 


marble monument holds her name and her grave; fond hearts 
hold her saintly memory; God holds the chastened soul. 

Let us not weep. She has done her work. Her gentle 
hands have scattered roses long enough for others — may 
they not hold the palm in heaven now? 

God gave her the one wish of her sweet and humble 
spirit — He lent her for a season to bless the home of him 
she loved, and he is grateful, and repines not that his 
treasure went away to rest in heaven. 

She has vanished from his stately halls, and her serene 
brows are crowned with bliss unspeakable, and his heart has 
followed her through these gates of glittering pearl, and the 
poor, and the needy, and the oppressed enshrine the lonely 
Joselyn in their grateful hearts, and call him a true noble- 
man. 

"We do not mourn her dead. We know that she sits by 
the gates of heaven waiting for us. Perchance she holds 
them ajar to watch over us, and shed her overbrimming 
bliss upon us. And we see this infant angel which she left 
to comfort us — the orphan boy — the heir of Joselyn Wold. 
He nestles smiling in my arms, and lifts his mother's blue, 
seraphic eyes to me. I weep, but I am filled with joy. I 
clasp him closer, and pray that he may also have her beau- 
tiful spirit. 

Brave, patient, meek carissima mia, we shall not part in 
heaven. 

Close the curtains on memory’s cell; shut the blinds; 
I have recorded the end of The Secret Vendetta. 

[the end.] 


“A DEBT OF VENGEANCE,” by Mrs. E. Burke 
Collins, will be published in the next number (42) of The 
Select Series. 


DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 


STREET Sc SMITH’S SELECT SERIES No. 23. 


J?rice» 25 Cents. 


Some Opinions of the Press. 

• u As the probabilities are remote of the play • The Old Homestead ' being 
seen anywhere but In large cities It Is only fair that the story of the piece should 
be printed. Like most stories written from plays It contains a great deal which 
Is not said or done on the boards, yet It Is no more verbose than such a story 
should be, and It gives some good pictures of the scenes and people who for a 
year or more have been delighting thousands nightly. Uncle Josh, Aunt Tlldy, 
Old Cy Prime, Reuben, the mythical Bill Jones, the sheriff and all the other char- 
acters are here, beside some new ones. It is to be honed that the book will make 
a large sale, not only on Its merits, but that other play owners may feel encour- 
aged to let their works be read by the many thousands who cannot hope to see 
them on the stage.”— A. Y. Herald, June 2d. 

“Denman Thompson’s ‘The Old Homestead’ Is a story of clouds and sunshine 
alternating over a venerat'd home; of a grand old man, honest and blunt, who 
loves his honor as he loves his life, yet suffers the agony of the condemned In 
learning of the deplorable conduct of a wayward son; a story of country life, love 
and jealousy, without an Impure thought, and with the healthy flavor of the 
fields In every chapter. It Is founded on Denman Thompson s drama of ’The 
Old Homestead.’ ”—X. Y. Press, May 26th. 

“ Messrs. Street & Smith, publishers of the New YorK Weekly, have brought 
out In book-form the story of • The Old Homestead,’ the play which, as produced 
by Mr. Denman Thompson, has met with acli wondrous success. It will proba 
bly have a great sale, thus justifying the foresight of the publishers In giving the 
drama this permanent fiction form.”— A. Y. Morning Journal, June 2d. 

“ The popularity of Denman Thompson’s play of ‘The Old Homestead' has 
encouraged street & Smith, evidently with his permission, to publish a good-sized 
novel with the same title, set In the same pcenes and Including the same charac- 
ters and more too. The book Is a fair match for the play In the simple good taste 
and real ability with which It Is written. Th« publishers are Street & Smith, and 
they have gotten the volume up in cheap popular form.”— A. Y. Graphic, May 29. 

"Denman Thompson’s play, ‘The Old Homestead,’ Is familiar, at least by rep- 
utation, to every ptay-goer In the country. Its truth to nature and Its simple 
pathos have been admirably preserved In this story, which Is founded upon It 
and follows Its Incidents closely. The requirements of the stag- make the action 
a little hurried at times, but the scenes described are brought before the mind’s 
eye with remarkable vividness, and the portrayal of life In the little New Eng- 
land town is almost perfect. Those who have never seen the play can get an 
excellent Idea of what It Is like from the book. Both are free from sentimentality 
and sensation, and are remarkably healthy In tone.”— Albany Express. 

“Denman Thompson's ‘Old Homestead’ has been put Into story-form and Is is- 
sued by Street & Smith. The story will somewhat explain to those who have not 
seen It the great popularity of the play ."—Brooklyn Times, June 8th. 

‘ “The fame of Denman Thompson’s play, ‘Old Homestead,’ Is world-wide. 
Tens of thousands have enjoyed it, and frequently recall the pure, lively pleasure 
they took in Its representation. This is the story told In narrative form as well 
as It was told on the stage, and will be a treat to all, whether they have seen the 
play or not."— National Tribune, Washington, D. C. 

“Hero we have the shaded lanes, the dusty roads, the hilly pastures, the 
peaked roofs, the school-house, and the familiar faces of dear oid Swanzey, and 
the story which, dramatized, has packed the largest theater In New York, and 
has been a success everywhere because of Its true and sympathetic touches of 
nature. All the Incidents which have held audiences spell bound are here re- 
corded— the accusation of robbery directed against the Innocent boy, his shame, 
and leaving home ; the dear old Aunt Tilda, who has been courted for thirty 
years by the mendacious Cy Prime, who lias never had the courage to propose ; 
the fall of the country boy into the temptations of city life, and his recovery by 
the good old man who braves the metropolis to find him. The story embodies aff 
that the play tells, and all that It suggests as well.”— Kansas City Journal . 
May 27th. 


THE COUNTY FAIR. 

By NEIL BURGESS. 

Written from the celebrated play now 
running its second continuous season in 
New York, and booked to run a third sea- 
son in the same theater. 

The scenes are among the New Hamp- 
shire hills, and picture the bright side of 
country life. The story is full of amusing 
events and happy incidents, something 
after the style of our “Old Homestead,” 
which is having such an enormous sale. 

“THE COUNTY FAIR” will be one 
of the great hits of the season, and should 
you fail to secure a copy you will miss a 
literary treat. It is a spirited romance of 
town and country, and a faithful repro- 
duction of the drama, with the same unique 
characters, the same grajdiic scenes, but 
with the narrative more artistically rounded, and completed than was 
possible in the brief limits of a dramatic representation. This touch- 
ing story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the 
introduction of an impure thought or suggestion. Read the following 

OPINIONS OF THE PRESS: 

Mr. Neil Burgess has rewritten his play, “The County Fair,” in story form. It 
rounds out a narrative which is comparatively but sketched in the play. It only needs 
the first sentence to set going the memory and imagination of those who have seen the 
latter and whet the appetite for the rest of this lively conception of a live dramatist.— 
Brooklyn Dailu Eagle. 

As “The County Fair” threatens to remain in New York for a long time, the general 
public out of town may be glad to learn that the playwright has put the piece into print 
in the form of a story. A tale based upon a play may sometimes lack certain iiterary 
qualities, but it never is the sort of thing over which any one can fall asleep. For- 
tunately, “The County Fair” on the stage and in print is by the same author, so there 
can be no reason for fearing that the book misses any of the points of the drama which 
has been so successful.— A'. Y. Herald. 

The idea of turning successful plays into novels seems to be getting popular. The 
latest book of this description is a story reproducing the action and incidents of Neil 
Burgess’ play, “The County Fair." The tale, which is a romance based on scenes of 
home life and domestic joys and sorrows, follows closely the lines of the drama in 
story and plot .—Chicago Daily News. 

Mr. Burgess’ amusing play, “The County Fair.” has been received with such favor 
that he has worked it over and expanded it into a novel of more than 200 pages. It will 
be enjoyed even by those who nave never heard the play and still more by those who 
have.— Cincinnati Times- Star. 

This touching story effectively demonstrates that it is possible to produce a novel 
which is at once wholesome and interesting in every part, without the introduction of 
an impure thought or suggestion.— Albany Dress. 

Street & Smith have issued “The County Fair.” This is a faithful reproduction of 
the drama of that name and is an affecting and vivid story of domestic life, joy and 
sorrow, and rural scenes.— San Francisco Call. 

This romance is written from the play of this name and is full of touching incidents. 
—Evansville Journal. 

It is founded on the popular play of the same name, in which Neil Burgess, who is 
also the author of the story, has achieved the dramatic success of the season.— .Fail 
River Herald. 

The County F/vir is No. 33 of “The Select Series,” for 
sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent, on receipt of price, 25 cents, to any 
address, postpaid, by STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 25-81 Rose st.. New York, 



Bertha M. Clay’s 

LATEST 

Copyright Novels, 

1 1ST 

The Select Series. 

Price, 253 Cents Eacli. 


FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


No. 22— A HEART’S BITTERNESS. 

No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL. 

No. 36— THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER. 

No. 37-IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE. 

These novels are among the best ever written 
by BERTHA M. CLAY, and are enjoying an 
enormous sale. They are copyrighted and can 
be had only in THE SELECT SERIES. 


For sale by all Booksellers and News Agents, or will be sent, post- 
paid, to any address in the United States or Canada, on receipt ©£ 
price, 25 cents each, by 

STREET & SMITH, Publishers, 

31 BOSE STBEET, New York. 


P. O. Box 2734. 


The Select Series. 


A SEMI-MONTHLY PUBLICATION 

DEVOTED TO GOOD READING IN AMERICAN FICTION. 


PRICE 25 CENTS EACH. FULLY ILLUSTRATED. 


Latest Issues. 


No. 37-IN LOVE’S CRUCIBLE, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 36 — THE GIPSY’S DAUGHTER, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 35— CECILE’S MARRIAGE, by Lucy Randall Comfort. 

No, 34— THE LITTLE WIDOW, by Julia Edwards. 

No. 33— THE COUNTY FAIR, by Neil Burgess. 

No. 32— LADY RYHOPE’S LOVER, by Emma Garrison Jones. 
No. 31— MARRIED FOR GOLD, by Mrs. E. Burke Collins. 

No. 30- PRETTIEST OF ALL, by Julia Edwards. 

No. 20— THE HEIRESS OF EGREMONT, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 28— A HEART’S IDOL, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 27— WINIFRED, by Mary Kyle Dallas. 

No. 26— FONTELROY, by Francis A. Durivage. 

No. 25— THE KING’S TALISMAN, by Sylvanus Cobb, Jr. 

No. 24 — THAT DOWDY, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 23— DENMAN THOMPSON’S OLD HOMESTEAD. 

No. 22— A HEART’S BITTERNESS, by Bertha M. Clay. 

No. 21— THE LOST BRIDE, by Clara Augusta. 

No. 20— INGOMAR, by Nathan D. Urner. 

No. 10— A LATE REPENTANCE, by Mrs. Mary A. Denison. 
No. 18— ROSAMOND, by Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller. 

No. 17— THE HOUSE 0<F SECRETS, by Mrs. Harriet Lewis. 
No. 16— SIBYL’S INFLUENCE, by Mrs. Georgie Sheldon. 

No. 15— THE VIRGINIA HEIRESS, by May Agnes Fleming. 

No. 14— FLORENCE FALKLAND, by Burke Brentford. 

No. 13— THE BRIDE ELECT, by Annie Ashmore. 

No. 12— THE PHANTOM WIFE, by Mrs. M. V. Victor. 

No. 11— BADLY MATCHED, by Helen Corwin Pierce. 

The above works are for sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent to any 
address, postpaid, on receipt of price, 25 cents each, by the publishers, 

STREET & SMITH, 

31 Rose Street, New York. 


P, O. Box 2734. 


The Secret Service Series, 

(fi t, S. S .) 

Comprises the Best Detective Stories by the Best A uthors. 

Issued Monthly. PRICE, 25 CENTS EACH. Fully Illustrated. 

flit- This series is enjoying a larger sale than any similar series ever 
published. None but American Authors are represented on our list, and 
the Books are all Copyrighted, and can be had only in the SECRET 
SERVICE SERIES. Bound in Handsome Lithograph Covers. 


LATEST ISSUES : 

No. 29— THE POKER KING, hy Marline Manly. 

No. 28-BOB YOUNGER’S FATE, by Edwin S. Deane. 

No. 27— THE REVENUE DETECTIVE, by Police Captain 
James. 

No. 26— UNDER HIS THUMB, by Donald J. McKenzie. 

No. 25— THE NAVAL DETECTIVE’S CHASE, by Ned Buntline. 
No. 24 -THE PRAIRIE DETECTIVE, by Leander P. 
Richardson. 

No. 23— A MYSTERIOUS CASE, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 22— THE SOCIETY DETECTIVE, by Oscar Maitland. 

No. 21— THE AMERICAN MARQUIS, by Nick Carter. 

No. 20— THE MYSTERY OF A MADSTONE, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 19— THE SWORDSMAN OF WARSAW, by Tony Pastor. 
No. 18— A WALL STREET HAUL, by Nick Carter. 

No. 17 -THE OLD DETECTIVE’S PUPIL, by Nick Carter. 
No. 16— THE MOUNTAINEER DETECTIVE, by Clayton W. 
Cobb. 

No. 15-TOM AND JERRY, by Tony Pastor. 

No. 14— THE DETECTIVE’S CLEW, by “Old Hutch.” 

No. 13— DARKE DARRELL, by Frank H. Stauffer. 

No. 12— THE DOG DETECTIVE, by Lieutenant Murray. 

No. 11-THE MALTESE CROSS, by Eugene T. Sawyer. 

No. 10— THE POST-OFFICE DETECTIVE, by Geo. W. Goode. 
No. 9-OLD MORTALITY, by Young Baxter. 

No. 8-LITTLE LIGHTNING, by Police Captain James. 

No. 7— THE CHOSEN MAN, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 6-OLD STONEWALL, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 5— THE MASKED DETECTIVE, by Judson R. Taylor. 

No. 4— THE TWIN DETECTIVES, by K. F. Hill. 

No. 3- VAN, THE GOVERNMENT DETECTIVE, by “Old 
Sleuth.” 

No. 2— BRUCE ANGELO, by “Old Sleuth.” 

No. 1- BRANT ADAMS, by “Old Sleuth.” _ 

For sale by all Newsdealers, or will be sent by mail, post-paid, on receipt of price, 
25 cents each, by the Publishers, STREET & SMITH, 26-31 Rose Street, New York. 



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WHO HAVE 

parried Foreigners of Jvarjk. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH ARMORIAL BEARINGS. 


STREET SMITHS 

HAND-BOOK LIBRARY— NO. 3. 


IPrice SO Oonts. 


Some Opinions of the press: 


The title page of this volume is not sufficiently long, for besides all it promises it 
neglects to announce tout there is also a list of available noblemen wlio have have not 
yet entered the state of matrimony, and to whom, presumably, American beauty backed 
by American gold may successfully appeal.— X Herald , March 16. 

The book is remarkably complete and is valuable as a reference, in addition to be- 
ing decidedly interesting.— -A'. Y. World , March 18. 

The book gives all the attainable facts and figures concerning rich American girls 
who have married foreigners of more or less distinction.— X Sun y March 14. 


In fact “ Titled Americans” is a book that should be in the hands of each unmarried 
female in this country, anti from it she should learn the glorious destiny that she may 
achieve.— Ahni&ey's II ceJcly. 


It furnishes a great deal of information, which will be valuable for reference, con- 
cerning American ladies who have married titled foreigners.— Bos on Saturday Eccnino 
Gazelle. 

Of course American “gentlemen” cannot “come in” when such a book is produced. 
They will have to wait until some century when women rule Europe and carry alj the 
purchasable titles in tlieir own right - Brooklyn Daily Eayle. 

Embraced in this carefully compiled book, which is vastly entertaining in its way, 
are. p rsonal sketches of all the bachelor peers of Britain. WY take it that tin* moral of 
the work for our American maidens is, “ Go thou and do likewise,” and that its mission 
is to show them where and how .—Boston Times. 


Here is a volume for which young American women will be truly grateful. It con- 
tains the names of two hundred and five American girls who have married foreigners. 
This is of course, very exciting reading, and will probably keen many girls awake at 
night, planning to go and do like w Ua.—J^ttshuroh Halle in, March 15. 

“Titled Americans” is a valuable and unique, work of considerable labor and ex- 
pense. and something every person m society will be interested in.— A. Y. Keening 
Telegram, March 13. 

Street & Smith have issued a rather unique book, but one that, in these days when 
titled foivianers arc gobbling up and carrying off so many American belles and rich 
girls, will not bo without use for reference.- Detroit Tribune. 

The only book of the kind ever published This is an interesting and unique work 
of considerable labor and expense, and something many society people will be interested 
in as it gives a complete record to date of all American ladies who have married titled 
foreigners illustrated with their armorial hearings. Young ladies traveling abroad 
shoufd not* fail to secure a copy as it will be of great assistance in regulating their heart 
r .rings. — Elmira Teleyram. 


If anything were needed to crystallize tlif craze of some A 
isbands it has been provided in this wr.tat !•; hand-book b 


American women for titled 

husbands it has been provided minis vcimsu i»- rmiu-oouK for marriageable maidens 
and ambitious w idows. It will doubtless be hidden away in some secret corner of the 
boudoir or carried off in the traveling trunk across the ocean, to be consulted, 
cherished and studied : while the names of more than two hundred American women 
who have successfully hunted down the titbd can e will arouse the envy and hast* n the 
palpitation of many a hushand-liunting aspirant to wedded privileges. A. 1 . Saturday 
Jlerieir , March H. 




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